


a strange sense of familiarity

by Katranga



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cum Play, Dirty Talk, Eddie is divorced, Everybody Lives, Fix-It, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Hook-Up, Humor, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Mirror Sex, Open and honest communication, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overstimulation, Past Drug Use, Phone Sex, Praise Kink, Pre-IT Chapter Two (2019), Repressed Memories, Richie Tozier Cries During Sex, Sexting, Smut, Spanking, eventual angst, excessive emoji use, like a little?, like just a little for flavour, mild horror elements, they switch just fyi, until the end where they get scared whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 103,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22729474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katranga/pseuds/Katranga
Summary: “So Eddie, what brings you to the bar tonight?" Richie asked. "Gonna rebound from the divorce? Pick up a hot young twenty-something to feel young again?”“Fuck you,” Eddie said, jutting his chin forward. “What a terrible way to ruin the mood.”“I’m sorry, all my moods are poorly cultivated. What mood were you looking for?”A nervous lump grew in Eddie's throat. He threw back his drink to get rid of it.Hand wrapped around the glass he’d just slammed back onto the bar, he said, “The mood that gets me leaving with a schlubby forty-something.”--Pre-chapter two, Eddie and Richie meet and don't remember each other, but have an instant connection anyway...
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 774
Kudos: 1368





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Happy valentines, have some smut! I've got... 60k of this written already, because I am apparently incapable of writing anything succinct about these two. I'm not quite done the ending, so the wordcount is only gonna grow. The "additional tags" tag almost exclusively refers to the other kinds of sex they have, so I'll update those with each chapter as something new comes up.  
> I'll probably be updating like every two weeks? Alternating with the sequel to Kisses Taste Like Mint, which I'll start posting next weekend, with any luck.  
> Please enjoy!

_**Part One - New York**  
  
  
_

Throughout the entire process of getting ready, ordering a cab, and in fact still while walking into the bar, Eddie was convincing himself he’d come up with a stupid, terrible idea. Even though to an outsider, he may be experiencing the casual Friday night he was almost incapable of having. To any unwitting passerby, he wanted to exude a casual, been-there-a-hundred-times energy. 

This wasn’t even a gay bar. It was just a normal bar with a five star cleanliness rating on three of the germ-conscious blogs he followed. 

So it wasn’t like he was making a statement walking in there. He wasn’t announcing anything that may or may not be true about himself. He might leave with a woman (he was not going to do that—he’d leave alone before doing that). He was probably going to leave alone anyway, because if he wasn’t at a gay bar, then what was the percentage, statistically, that he’d find someone interested in him? A someone who was a _man_? (Which he wasn’t even sure if he wanted—okay, yes, he wanted, but was he ready?)

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked, because Eddie was sitting at the bar already! That was progress. That was success, even. Sitting on a stool like he was gonna have a normal drink all by himself. Maybe he was waiting for someone, maybe he wasn’t. Nobody looking at him would know, he was being so casual.

Mixing his pills with alcohol caused drowsiness, so Eddie hadn’t taken them, which made him need the help of alcohol even more because he knew he needed to calm down before he tried talking to anyone.

“Wine?” Eddie replied. 

“Red or white?”

Which weren’t nearly enough options to end up getting a good wine.

“Actually, make it a—” Cosmo? Appletini? Was that too obviously gay? Did he want to be obviously gay? Could you _be_ obviously gay when you wouldn’t even let yourself say it aloud? “Piña Colada?”

Fuck.

“You got it.”

Fuck, a Piña Colada? What the hell was wrong with him? That wasn’t casual. That was freshman’s first drink. He was forty goddamn years old. A Piña fucking—

The bartender set a glass in front of him, topped with an umbrella, pineapple and maraschino cherry.

“You wanna start a tab?”

Eddie sipped through the straw. “Yes.”

There was too much sugar in this—not too sugary for Eddie’s taste, he was enjoying it very much—but health-wise, it was too much sugar. 

He focused on how bad the drink was for him instead of the sweat gathering in his armpits. How did you talk to somebody at a bar? How did you _pick up_ somebody at a bar? The last time Eddie was single, Myra just plucked him from their stats class in college and—

He downed the rest of his drink in one, freezing pull.

No Myra tonight. She was gone. The papers were signed. He was free.

Now he just had to worry about trying to talk to strangers in a bar, and this new brain freeze.

He shook it off. Waved down the bartender and ordered, “A Cosmo?”

FUCK.

Eddie accepted the Cosmo, gave it a sip, and when he looked around again, a man was seated three stools away from him nursing some brown alcohol. The place was on its way to being packed, but not uncomfortably so just yet; the man might have been there before Eddie sat down and he just hadn’t noticed him.

But now he couldn’t stop looking. He was _hunched_ over the bar counter like the hunchback of Notre Dame. Eddie didn’t think people actually hunched like that—wasn’t he worried about the damage to his spine from that posture? He wasn’t a young guy, he was gonna get a crick in his neck doing that. 

The man was swathed in mystery, but rather than the edgy, enticing allure of a James Bond or someone similar, he was more of the unanswerable, galling riddle of a New York city rat dragging pizza down subway steps. Where did it come from? Where was it going? Why did it garner international attention?

The man was wearing a wrinkled, faded yellow Hawaiian shirt, and a leather jacket was draped over the back of his chair. Maybe the leather jacket was a previous patron’s, or he was looking after it for someone, because what kind of tangled mess of a person wore a Hawaiian shirt and a leather jacket at the same time? His brown hair clearly hadn’t been brushed in days, and his big-ass glasses magnified his eyes like a mad scientist’s and—shit, he was looking right at Eddie.

Oddly, a grin stretched across the man’s stubble-covered face. “See something you like?”

A thump sounded deep in Eddie’s chest, and he didn’t know what horrible cardiac condition caused that, but it was definitely aggravated by the guy’s smug look.

“Not at all,” Eddie said, shocked that a person so (schlubby, Myra would definitely call him schlubby, and he’d agree) _poorly put-together_ could be so confident.

His expression pulled like elastic, from overconfident to dramatically offended in a moment. “Well I’ll go fuck myself I guess, but you were the one staring.”

“Did you look at a mirror before you left your house this morning?” Eddie asked.

Eddie had spent nearly an hour rifling through his closet, comparing outfits at his shitty new bachelor pad before coming out tonight. He’d been trying to find something cool, and had been thoroughly disappointed. Could a forty year old questioning-but-probably-gay divorcée even _be_ cool? 

“No,” the man said. “But _you_ clearly did.”

Despite his greatest efforts, Eddie’s cheeks heated. “I did. There’s nothing wrong with that. If—” 

Another patron popped in between them to order a drink from the bar, blocking Eddie’s line of sight. 

He picked up his Cosmo and stood, side-eying the new stranger in irritation before taking the stool next to the stranger he’d been talking to. “If we all took an extra second before leaving the house—”

“How do you know I wasn’t saving that seat?” The man’s lips twitched. His eyes _raked_ over Eddie in a way that made his chest flush.

Oh god. Oh god, _this_ was how you talked to somebody at a bar. This man was good at it.

Eddie was not.

As was made evident by Eddie jerking a dismissive hand at him in response. “ _Look_ at you.”

The man’s tongue flicked out to lick his bottom lip as his grin grew. “What’s your name?”

“Eddie.”

The man held his hand out, the one that had been cupping his drink, and it was slightly damp, but so was Eddie’s. Callouses scraped Eddie’s palm, and the man’s long fingers wrapped around his easily.

Eddie’s heart beat faster in anticipation of learning the man’s name in kind. This was the first step, learning names. God, he was doing it. He was having a conversation with a guy at a bar!

But a lengthy pause had stretched, and he still hadn’t received a response.

“Name?” Eddie said expectantly.

“Sorry?” He still had that low-level smirk, like everything Eddie said was a fucking riot.

“Traditionally, when one introduces themself, the person they’re speaking to does as well.” He took his hand back and crossed his arms. “Have you ever met another person?”

“Lots, but none quite like you, I don’t think. You don’t know who I am?”

“Why fuck would I know you?”

“You watch Netflix?”

“No.”

He rolled his eyes. “The name’s Richie. What do you mean you don’t watch Netflix?”

“My ex-wife changed the account password.”

Fucking hell, what the fuck is wrong with him, why the fuck would he bring up his ex-wife to a man who’s paying attention to him? Especially since, once he got past the initial shock, Eddie found him actually kind of ruggedly handsome. His jawline was Not Bad, and the forearm situation was real nice, but none of that mattered because Eddie had just brought up his ex-fucking- _wife_ —

“Rough luck,” was Richie’s response. He sipped his drink. “You want mine?”

“Your—your Netflix password?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah.”

Eddie stared at him; the smile lines bracketing his mouth, his thick brows framing eyes lit with mirth. Like a puppy with a ball. He wanted to play.

Eddie could oblige.

“Yeah,” he said flatly. “Gimme your Netflix password.”

With a smug little grin, Richie reached into the leather jacket hanging on his chair—it _did_ belong to him, Jesus—for a pen and scribbled onto a bar napkin. He slid it over to Eddie and waited.

Eddie looked down.

In chicken scratch, the password _ih@v3al0ngd0ng_ was scribbled across the napkin.

Eddie sighed through his nose. It wasn’t funny. He wasn’t going to laugh. He bit the inside of his cheek. “You have a long dong?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Laughter burst from Eddie, straight from his gut.

The fucker looked pleased as punch that his dumb joke had landed. It kind of made him glad he’d laughed.

Richie waved down the bartender and ordered another, “Scotch on the rocks.” He lifted a brow at Eddie. “Can I get you something?”

His chest thudded again.

“I’ll have a scotch, too.”

He snorted. “You don’t like scotch.”

“Don’t tell me what I don’t like,” he snapped.

“Dude, I just watched you chug a Piña Colada in thirty seconds flat. Trust me, you don’t want a scotch on the rocks.”

He deflated a little, lips twisting—he was definitely _not_ pouting.

Richie winked. “You okay with rye?”

The only rye he could ever remembering having was rye bread.

“Yeah,” Eddie replied.

To the bartender, Richie said, “He’ll have an old-fashioned.”

Ugh, and he was so confident, but not—well, he _was_ cocky, a trait Eddie didn’t normally admire. But Richie did it in a way—he acted like… Eddie shook his head, giving up on trying to justify why he was liking this attitude. It was because Richie was hot, and Eddie was into him. Simple as that.

A determined shiver ran through him.

The old-fashioned was delivered, and it was a nice amber colour, with a little twirl of orange peel, and it looked casual, and it tasted not terrible despite the burn, and he was definitely gonna regret mixing alcohols tomorrow, but for now Richie was smirking at him and Eddie was not leaving this bar without (this man at his side) at least his number.

“So Eddie, what brings us to the bar tonight? Gonna rebound from the divorce? Pick up a hot young twenty-something to feel young again?”

“Fuck you,” Eddie said, jutting his chin forward. “What a terrible way to ruin the mood.”

“I’m sorry, all my moods are poorly cultivated. What mood were you looking for?”

A nervous lump grew in his throat. He threw back his drink to get rid of it. 

Hand wrapped around the glass he’d just slammed back onto the bar, he said, “The mood that gets me leaving with a schlubby forty-something.”

Richie tossed his head back with a laugh. “Fuck. _Me!_ Schlubby? Here I was convincing myself that I had a dad bod, but turns out I’m a fucking shlub. Wow.”

“Are you a dad?” His tone betrayed his distaste.

“No. Why, is that a deal-breaker?”

“Kids are vectors of disease.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not like I’d be taking you home to meet my kids, dude.”

“But you _would_ be taking me home?” 

Three drinks gave Eddie more confidence than he’d normally recommend to himself. Richie had yet to confirm he wanted to take Eddie anywhere. But he got the distinct feeling they were both making this a bit harder than it needed to be on purpose. For fun, maybe. And on Eddie’s part, at least, because he didn’t know how to make anything easy.

Richie lifted a shoulder. “I mean, I’ve got a hotel room, so…”

“Does it have a nice shower?”

“Why are you interested in a schlub’s shower?”

“Ignore that. You’re hot.”

He cocked his head. “You’re over-correcting, buddy.”

Eddie moved closer, touching the other man’s knee. Lowly—though he didn’t mean for his voice to come out so fucking _husky_ —he said, “I mean it.”

He could blame the alcohol, if he was coming on too strong—but it was Richie himself, too. He said anything he damn well pleased, why shouldn’t Eddie? He could lean into the thudding in his chest, decide it was good, like when he was running, that it proved he was alive and electric, and not a warning sign of cardiac arrest.

Eddie watched Richie’s Adam’s apple bob with a hard swallow.

He wanted to lick it.

“Is this why you got divorced?” Richie asked, because Eddie clearly had the worst taste in men.

His nails dug into Richie’s knee. “You need to stop bringing that up.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have told me! You brought it up first.”

Because Eddie was so fucking bad at this.

And instincts would tell him that exposing any more of himself, especially the recently divorced part, to a man he was trying to convince to have sex with him was a bad idea.

But Richie had asked. And he wasn’t immediately skipping to the next joke. Maybe he was interested. Maybe he actually wanted to know.

Eddie cut his gaze away from Richie for the first time in many minutes. “It was a lot of reasons. She was awful, I was… not good, either. _This_ wasn’t cited in the divorce filings, but it had occurred to me.” He ducked his head. “It’s the first time I’ve tried this.”

The denim of Richie’s jeans shifted under Eddie’s palm as Richie leaned forward. He spoke at Eddie’s ear, voice a low timbre. “I haven’t done this too many times either.”

Somehow that broke the last spine of tension in Eddie, that they were both finding their footing later in life, they were both laughably bad at flirting and sending appropriate signals, but were determined enough to scrape past the awkward and keep talking.

“Richie, would you please invite me to your hotel room?” Eddie said, still close enough to smell the scotch on Richie’s breath. And it should’ve been gross, but it wasn’t. It made him want to taste it on his tongue.

“That’s the politest you’ve been all night.” He stood, grabbing his jacket. Oh, _fuck_ , he was tall. That must’ve been why he was hunching. “Come on.”

Eddie hopped to his feet, feeling like a teenager, feeling like he’d won a gold medal at the Olympics, feeling light and free and full of possibilities.

Richie left money on the bar, enough to cover both their bills and a tip, and led Eddie outside with a wide, warm hand on his back.

“So are you like on a Netflix show?” Eddie asked, not missing the wad of cash he’d tossed out like it was nothing.

Richie tutted as he ordered an Uber. “You’re just gonna have to get your own subscription and find out, Eds.”

“Eds?” he repeated indignantly. “No one in my life has ever called me that, and you’re not starting when I’m a grown-ass man.”

Though even as the words came out of his mouth, his claim rang false. He’d been called Eds before, and he’d hated it then, too. Hadn’t he? Except he couldn’t fathom who in his life would’ve called him that.

“Aw, but you look so cute when I say it,” Richie said, reaching out to pinch his cheek.

Eddie smacked his hand away.

He wanted to… _god_ , he was gonna need to start a list of all the things he wanted to do to this man. Sexually. Because they were about to have sex.

When the Uber pulled up, Richie opened the car door for him, which was more chivalrous than Eddie was expecting.

“How far is your hotel?” he asked as they put on their seat belts. He was pretty sure Richie wasn’t going to bother, but Eddie stared him down until he did.

“Not far,” Richie replied. “We probably could’ve walked, but I don’t wanna walk.”

And walking might’ve been nice, if only to expend a little of the giddy energy bubbling in Eddie’s chest. And they could’ve held hands—though that might’ve been too much for a hook up. Or they could’ve walked with Richie’s arm around Eddie’s shoulders, they’d probably be a good fit. But still probably too much.

So the car ride was the better choice. The radio played some whiny Top 40 hit that Eddie couldn’t guess the artist of if you put a gun to his head. Richie sang along under his breath. Eddie’s body was turned toward Richie but not facing him, so their knees were brushing because Richie’s long-ass legs were spread behind the driver’s seat. 

What were you supposed to do on car rides to a hook up destination? Whisper dirty things? Make out? Surely that’s what some people did, but Eddie didn’t want his first gay experience to have the potentiality of getting hatecrimed. 

Could the driver tell? Eddie always worried, before he got married, that people would be able to tell when he looked at men. When he thought about them, and they way they smiled, or their flexing muscles and rough hands. What must the driver think of two grown men leaving a bar together to go to a hotel?

Just as nervous sweats were returning to Eddie, Richie covered Eddie’s hand on the seat between them with his own. Eddie looked down at their hands, and then at Richie, who was still gazing out the window with the passing streetlights reflecting off his glasses.

Eddie carefully flipped his hand over so it was palm up, and Richie took it and squeezed, and left their hands like that the rest of the ride, leaving Eddie with this strange sort of calm.

They arrived at the hotel a minute later; Richie was right, they could’ve walked. 

Once they were out of the car, Eddie positioned himself as close to Richie as possible without being too obvious, hoping he’d put his hand on Eddie’s back again as they walked through the lobby.

And Richie did, a little lower than the first time—definite small of the back territory. Eddie tried to hold back a grin from his success. Something inside told him it was a dumb thing to gloat about, but the alcohol warming his system let him revel in the glory of a plan well-executed.

“You never been in a fucking hotel before?” Richie snorted when they got in the elevator.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re, like, glowing.”

Eddie’s lips pursed. “I don’t care about the hotel. I’m just excited. Are you gonna let me be excited?”

Richie’s brows rose. He grabbed Eddie’s hip, bringing him a step closer. He bowed his head in, saying, “Pardon my rudeness—get as excited as you want.”

Eddie twisted his fingers in his shirt. “I don’t need your permission.”

Richie grinned, and it hit Eddie like that old-fashioned, warm and burning all the way through him.

The elevator doors pinged open, and Richie kept his hand on Eddie’s hip as they stepped out. He paused in the hall, looking one way then the other as his forehead creased.

“Do you not know where your room is?” Eddie asked, amused.

“I’ve only been here a night,” Richie retorted. “It’s room 703, you’re lucky I know that.”

Eddie read the sign in front of them directing them to room numbers and directed him to the right. “You’re just visiting?”

“Yeah, I live in LA.”

Which was good, technically. A true one night stand. No possibility of it going any further. It was _good_ , exactly what Eddie had wanted.

“You from around here?” Richie asked as he got his key card out.

“Unfortunately.”

“What? You don’t like New York? People are dying to move here.”

“Then they can die.” Eddie shrugged as they walked into Richie’s room. “In the giant piles of garbage, or the grimy Hudson, or the never-ending traffic—”

“I think LA’s got you beat with the traffic.”

Eddie ignored him and took in the room. It was nice—the whole hotel was definitely upscale, not frivolously so, but the finishes oozed elegance, and Eddie could be confident that the crisp white bedsheets had been properly laundered. The large room was split in half by a raised dais that sat the bed and a dresser. The rest of the room had a couch, mini bar and a TV on the wall.

Eddie was immediately drawn to the bathroom.

“Yeah, make yourself at home,” Richie said dryly, shedding his jacket.

“Oh, yeah can I—? Whatever.” Eddie had half-stopped, but then just went on to his destination when Richie’s response was a laugh.

“You get settled, I’ll put on some mood music,” he said with a wriggle of his brows.

Eddie went in just to _look_ at first, at the deep, jetted bathtub, the glass-walled shower, the soft towels and quartz counter tops. Then, since he was in there already, Eddie washed his hands. And splashed some cool water on his face. 

And then, “Richie, can I use this mouthwash?” he called through the open door.

“Yeah, babe, whatever you want.”

A thrill ran up his spine at being called _babe_. That was much preferable to Eds (though there was a certain draw to that name that he couldn’t deny either). 

He gargled and spit and then needed to piss, too. So he closed the door, which he probably should’ve done in the first place, but oh well. As he was washing his hands a second time, he took stock of how much dried sweat was still hanging on him, so he grabbed a wash cloth and started dabbing at his pits, but there was also shower right there, calling his name. 

Before he could get too drawn in, Duran Duran’s ‘Hungry Like the Wolf’ started blasting.

Eddie yanked open the bathroom door to find Richie dancing by himself in front of a wireless speaker—though it was really more of a shuffle than a dance.

“What the fuck kind of mood are you setting with this?” Eddie asked.

Richie grinned, turning the volume down just a little. “A fun one!”

He shuffle-danced over to him, offering a hand. Eddie took it, and Richie pulled him flush with his chest. 

Fun, yeah. Eddie could do fun.

They danced to a few truly awful 80s throwbacks, Eddie’s opinion of which Richie took offense to, since he’d curated this playlist himself.

“Curated?” Eddie repeated. “Anybody can make a playlist on Spotify, you pretentious ass.”

“Ooh, yeah, talk about my ass,” Richie crooned, grabbing a handful of Eddie’s.

Eddie gasped and yanked him closer by the shirt. He didn’t have a comeback, he just suddenly needed to get rid of any shred of personal space between them. Richie had clearly snuck in a mint after his bourbon, which turned Eddie on more than a little bit. Sweat gathered at his temples and his pupils were blown wide as he looked down at Eddie with a hot smirk. 

He’d never wanted anyone more in his life.

Richie’s big hand was still fondling his ass. “Fuck, do you work out?”

“Yeah.”

And then Eddie was kissing him. 

Richie moaned into it, with no regard for how clearly desperate he sounded. Desperate and _hot_ , he should clarify. Eddie wound his fingers through his hair, pleasantly surprised to find it wasn’t that greasy. His stubble scratched Eddie’s face. He imagined what it would feel like between his thighs.

Eddie’s mouth dropped open and Richie stuck his tongue in tentatively, like he was testing the waters of what Eddie liked. As an answer, Eddie lifted up on his toes to deepen the kiss, wrapping his arms around Richie’s neck to keep him in place.

Richie tugged the polo out of Eddie’s pants and slipped his hand up Eddie’s bare lower back. Eddie fucking whined. Richie was _touching_ him, all he was doing was touching his back, and Eddie was fucking losing it. 

Then again, he couldn’t remember the last time another person’s hands had been on him and he’d felt anything better than mild discomfort. 

They were both breathing hard when they broke apart.

Eddie nipped Richie’s bottom lip. “I like that.”

“What?”

“Your hands on me,” he replied, liquor dissolving the embarrassment that would usually accompany something so honest.

Richie blinked, and then his expression cleared with a grin. “And what about my mouth?”

His grin was contagious. “You really need to ask?”

“I dunno.” His other hand joined the first under Eddie’s shirt. “You’ve never fucked a guy, isn’t it only polite to check in—?”

Eddie surged forward, grinding his semi against his thigh as he kissed him again. He’d stopped worrying he was coming on too strong when Richie grabbed his ass.

Richie went right back to fondling, holding Eddie close to rub his hard length against him. Yup, Eddie wanted that, too.

“Fuck,” Richie said roughly. “Bed or couch?”

“What’re we, teenagers?” Eddie licked Richie’s spit off his own lip. “The _bed_.”

“You’ve got an attitude problem,” he grunted, sliding Eddie’s jacket off his shoulders.

Eddie pushed him toward the bed, advancing on him. “Take off your shirt.”

He did as he was told, grinning. “You sure you haven’t done this before?”

He eyed his hairy chest and started counting down the seconds until he’d be touching him again.

“I’ve thought about it.”

“Ooh, did you get off on it?” Richie clambered onto the bed and wriggled his shoulders, which were broad and begging to be pinned to the mattress. “Imagining a handsome stranger dicking you down and making you come good for the first time in your life?”

That was embarrassingly close to the truth, so Eddie didn’t answer, just joined him on the bed instead.

He couldn’t stop his blush though, which Richie could see spread all the way to his chest when he tugged off Eddie’s shirt.

Eddie wasted no time straddling his lap, immediately feeling him up.

Richie was more focused on Eddie. He whistled, gaze raking over him all over again. “Fucking gym rat.”

“Had to get my frustration out somewhere.” And avoid what had always waited for him at home just a little longer.

Richie ran his hands over his chest and arms in admiration. “Time well spent.”

His fingers brushed his nipple and Eddie bit his lip to hold back a moan, but Richie noticed anyway. He went in with his mouth—his teeth, really—nipping at the sensitive skin there and drawing some frankly undignified noises from Eddie.

Fuck, this was happening, it was all happening. He was in a hot man’s lap and they were shirtless and Richie was groping him like it was his job, and soon their pants would be off and—shit.

“Shit,” Eddie hissed, reality dousing him like cold water.

Richie paused, mouth open against his clavicle. “Whah?”

“Do you, like, have anything?”

“Like condoms and lube? Yeah, obviously—”

“No, like—like STIs.”

He slumped back, dropping his head against the headboard. “Who’s the mood-killer now, dude?”

“I—fuck, I forgot,” Eddie said. He was having a hard time believing it himself.

He’d had a lot of reasons to suppress this part of himself through his life, but STIs tied in the neatest with all his other fears of catching something, getting sick, dying a slow death. 

He got a flash of his childhood, riding around town on his bike yelling about catching AIDS from a bus pole. Which was weird because he could barely remember anything from his childhood—except that, which made it all the more flabbergasting that the threat of catching a sexually transmitted illness could just _slip his mind_.

“I don’t,” Richie was saying, and Eddie tried to tune back in. “Have anything. But I guess I could say that even if I _did_ have something. I still have condoms, though. And we can do just hand stuff if you want. Or, fuck, just dry hump it.” He thrust his hips up, mashing their erections together through their pants and making them both groan.

Eddie dropped his forehead against Richie’s, breathing through his nose. His decision was instant, because he’d spent nearly forty years denying himself, and he wasn’t gonna do that anymore. “No, I’m not leaving here until I touch your dick.”

Richie breathed a laugh. “If you insist…”

“As if you don’t want me touching you.” He palmed him through his jeans, marvelling at the way Richie’s hips bucked instinctively into his hand. “Don’t worry, I believe you don’t have anything. If you did, you clearly aren’t afraid to ruin the mood and tell me.”

“That’s so great, can we stop talking about STIs now?”

“Sorry, yeah.”

“Shit, I didn’t know apologies were in you vocabulary, Eds.”

“Quit calling me that—”

He kissed his jaw. “Only if you quit thinking so hard, yeah?” He gripped Eddie’s hips and grinded against him slowly, deliberately. Eddie was just starting to lose himself in the sensation when Richie said at his ear, “It’ll give you wrinkles.”

“Fuck off.” He slapped Richie’s shoulder. “Where’s your lube?”

“In my suitcase.”

Eddie huffed, crawling off his lap. When Richie just blinked at him, Eddie waved a hand. “Go get it?”

“Oh, right.” He slid off the bed, and slid off his jeans, too, so he was in just his boxer-briefs as he rifled through his suitcase on top of a dresser. 

He was so _long_. From his head to his wide shoulders and his back muscles, to the little divots above where his skin disappeared into the waistband of his underwear. And his body just kept going, all the way down his hairy thighs and calves.

Eddie swallowed, itching to go over there and line his body against Richie’s, press his chest to his back and pin him against the dresser to jerk him off from behind.

Richie gave his ass a little shake. “See something you like?”

“You’ve got a hole in your underwear,” Eddie replied with a dry mouth.

He turned around, condoms and lube in hand, with a sour expression as he came back to bed. “I’m not sure about all this negging, Eds.”

“Sorry, I got distracted by the thought of bending you over and fucking you against the dresser,” he said flatly.

“Oh my _god_.” He tossed the stuff on the bedside table and palmed himself. He grinned loosely. “Fuck, d’you think you could even reach, though?”

Eddie sat up, irritation peaking. “One, I’m not that short. Two, stop that and take off your raggedy fucking underwear. Three—”

“Can I blow you?” 

Eddie gulped. Richie didn’t do a damn thing that made sense, including agreeing to have sex with Eddie.

Richie raised his brows.

“Yes.”

Richie shucked off his underwear, flashing his erection for one second before dropping to his knees at the edge of the bed with a pleased little grin. “Sick.”

“Hey, what the—” Eddie crawled across the mattress because he’d missed the opportunity to fully appreciate his dick.

“Oh, so you’ve finally found something you like?” Richie said dryly, flipping a condom between his fingers.

Eddie peeked over the bed. Richie’s dick was hard and glistening, and gave a twitch the longer Eddie stared.

“I believe there was a discussion of dick sucking?” Richie prompted.

“Oh, shit, yeah—” He scrambled to divest himself of his pants and underwear.

“See, I just let you figure out what you need to do by yourself,” he said, sitting back on his haunches. “I trust that you don’t need to be ordered through every step—”

“You don’t like me telling you what to do?”

“A little appreciation would be nice.”

“Oh?” Eddie teased as he sat in front of Richie on the bed. Richie’s eyes also zeroed in on his dick. “You want me to thank you for taking off your underwear? You want a pat on the head and a ‘good boy’?”

Richie sucked in a sharp breath, and the condom he was trying to rip open slipped from his fingers, but he played it cool as he picked it up. “I mean… if you feel like it…”

Eddie had been joking, but he could work with this, especially since apparently he couldn’t go two seconds without ordering Richie around anyway.

“We’ll see how it goes—you mentioned something about making me come good for the first time in my life?” He tweaked his chin. “How about putting that dirty mouth to good use?”

Richie laughed and rolled the condom down Eddie’s shaft, and that alone had Eddie swallowing back a moan.

“Oh, hold on.” Richie took off his glasses and handed them to Eddie. “Can you put those on the table? But be careful, I’m blind without them.”

Eddie set them aside and said, “You need help finding my dick?”

“You think it’s that small?”

“Suck my dick, man.”

And he did.

He licked from the base to the tip, and then sucked his head into his mouth, flicking his tongue across the slit.

“Oh, _fuck_.” He grabbed Richie’s shoulder, warm and sturdy in his grasp. 

Richie’s calloused palms slid up Eddie’s inner thighs, parting them further so he could nestle between them. Heat radiated from Richie, and enveloped Eddie’s cock as Richie took him further in.

Eddie had never had a blowjob before. He had not imagined it to be this messy. Richie’s mouth made obscene slurping noises as he sucked him off. When he was giving his jaw a rest, he’d pump Eddie with his hand and lick sloppily along the shaft, leaving his chin dripping in his own saliva. Without the condom, he’d be covered in Eddie’s precum too.

He moaned, swiping a thumb along Richie’s swollen bottom lip as he pulled off again.

“You’re messy,” Eddie said in a rough voice that was not his own.

“And?”

“I like it,” he groaned, slipping his fingers through his hair.

Richie grinned. It seemed to be his default response no matter what Eddie said, but being so cheerfully smug an inch away from Eddie’s erection really fucking did it for him. 

Richie was already back to mouthing wetly at Eddie’s dick. He looked up at him as he did so. “Like this?”

“Uh huh,” Eddie said, nearly a whine. “Just like that, Rich,” 

His hips jerked, and his dick slid up against Richie’s cheek. Richie grabbed Eddie’s hip as he sucked him down again, holding Eddie to the bed.

Eddie groaned openly. His cock throbbed against Richie’s tongue.

Richie’s free hand dropped to his neglected erection, which was hot, watching Richie get so worked up over having Eddie in his mouth.

But, “Richie, if you come before I get to jerk you off, I’m gonna be real annoyed.”

And his hand stilled.

A smug smile spread across Eddie’s open lips. He tilted his head back. 

“That’s a good boy,” he breathed. 

Richie’s groan vibrated around Eddie’s dick, and his head picked up speed.

“Oh shit, you do like that, huh?” Eddie closed his eyes to better enjoy the experience; the hot wet heat, Richie’s nails digging into his thigh, the imperfect suction of his mouth as he bobbed up and down at a more frantic pace.

Indulging him like this felt kind of over the top, but Richie liked it, and Eddie was way too far gone to be ashamed enough to not give Richie exactly what he wanted.

“That’s it,” Eddie encouraged, squeezing the back of his neck gently. “So good for me, Richie. Feel fucking incredible on my dick.”

Richie’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he moaned like he was trying to respond.

Eddie’s breath hitched. Richie’s grip on his hip was the only thing keeping him from thrusting right up into his throat. “You like that? You like getting me off?”

Richie offered another reply that was completely obstructed by Eddie’s cock. Eddie’s stomach tightened with a pleasure that he’d never so much as brushed before. 

Richie looked absolutely delectable. His lashes fanned across his cheekbones, and his cheeks were flushed and hollowed from sucking, and, “Fuck, you’re the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen, you know that?”

Their eyes met and Richie—Eddie didn’t know how it was possible, maybe it was just the look in his eye—but he fucking smirked around Eddie’s dick.

And that was all Eddie could take.

He came with a gasping moan into Richie’s hot mouth. The strongest orgasm of his life, by far, rocked through Eddie, clearing his mind of everything except the pleasure Richie gifted him.

His sure hand pumped Eddie through it until he whined from overstimulation. He’d never been _over_ stimulated down there before. He didn’t mind it. Kind of liked it. Like maybe if he was getting fucked and he came, he’d want Richie to just keep on fucking him.

The thought made his spent dick twitch as Richie pulled the condom off. 

Richie smirked. “So, like, on a scale of one to ten?” His voice was fucking wrecked. “Better than your ex-wife?”

Eddie whacked a lazy hand out and managed to cuff his ear as Richie cleaned him off with a tissue. “I’m not sure what a person with an ego as big as yours needs a praise kink for.”

“It’s all an elaborate act,” he said, doing some weird version of jazz hands. “All the bravado is a facade to cover up mountains of self-loathing.”

“Well, you’re pushing forty and just recently started fucking dudes, so unfortunately I believe that.” And could relate. He grabbed the lube. “C’mon, your turn.”

Richie crawled onto the bed eagerly. “Gonna tell me how big my dick is now?”

 _“No.”_ He laid a hand on his chest and pushed until he was flat on the mattress. 

He straddled him and snaked a hand through Richie’s chest hair until he reached his happy trail. He paused, and Richie’s soft stomach rose and fell beneath his hand, trembling just slightly. Precum oozed from his slit, dripping down the shaft.

Eddie did that. He’d made Richie that hard. And now he was gonna touch his first dick ever other than his own. A thousand thoughts ran through his head, but the excited ones outshone the uneasy ones.

As if in a trance, Eddie touched one lube-slicked finger to the very tip of Richie’s dick, and then pulled away curiously. Precum stuck to his finger in a thin string before flicking back to Richie.

“Intimidated by its impressive girth?” Richie joked after probably too long of Eddie wordlessly staring.

“Shut up.” 

Eddie kissed him, thoroughly, and fisted firmly over Richie’s thick cock. It was similar but also somehow completely different from stroking his own. It was better, honestly. He liked returning the favour, making Richie feel as good as he had.

Richie released a shaky breath through his nose.

“How do you like it?” Eddie asked against his lips.

“Fast.”

Eddie went slow. Took his time, luxuriating in the solid weight in his hand, the velvety feel of him, the myriad of sounds he could draw from Richie.

“Bastard,” he huffed after a minute, tilting his head back.

Eddie mouthed at his throat, nipping at his Adam’s apple. “You want me to stop?”

“No, I want—” He swallowed.

He kissed his neck. “Uh huh?”

“Please?” he tried.

“Please?” Eddie repeated, interested. He moved his hand faster. “Please what?”

“God, please don’t stop,” he groaned, and actually maybe _this_ was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. Richie beneath him, one hand on Eddie’s thigh and the other digging into his bicep, begging Eddie to keep touching him.

Eddie covered his mouth with his own, licking into it and swallowing his moans. 

“Is that better, Richie?” he whispered, adjusting his grip and keeping his rapid pace. “You made me feel so fucking good, I want you to feel like that, too.”

His hips bucked desperately into Eddie’s fist. “Yes, fuck, Eddie, keep going.”

He kissed the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, you’ve been such a good boy for me, I won’t slow down until you come. Would you like that?”

“Fuck!” It burst from Richie’s mouth the same time he came, spurting stripes across his chest and stomach.

“Shit,” Eddie laughed, sitting back to finish him off.

It took him another minute to manage the response of, “I don’t know what the fuck you’re laughing at.”

“I just—” He was grinning. “I don’t know, didn’t expect to be this good at gay sex.”

Richie slid his glasses back on and sat up. He pulled Eddie in by the neck saying, “Well, congratulations and welcome to the club.” He kissed him soundly, turning his bones to soup. “And holy fucking shit, dude.”

“What, you liked it, right?” Eddie asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Yeah, Jesus, I’m getting hard again just thinking about it.”

“What—you’re still covered in cum, Richie.” Eddie grabbed the tissue box and cleaned him off just like he’d done for him.

He tossed the tissues, and then Eddie wasn’t really sure what to do. Because the sex was done but the night didn’t feel close to over, and he didn’t want to leave, anyway. Which was weird, right? He should want to leave. It was a one night stand. This—

“Fuck, what did I say about thinking giving you wrinkles?” Richie huffed a laugh. He tugged on Eddie’s arm and tucked him to his side when Eddie laid down with him. “When you’re not having sex, you think way too much.”

His chest hair brushed Eddie’s nose from where his face rested. This was a very good position to be in, he decided. 

“Maybe I agree with you,” Eddie said, “but I’m still gonna argue. You probably don’t think _enough_.”

“You just don’t wanna admit I’m right?”

“That’s the gist, yeah.”

He scoffed. “Prick.”

Eddie smiled into his chest. “I can stick around for a bit, then?”

“Yeah. We can get room service if you want.”

“In a while, maybe.” For now, Richie’s arm was slung over his shoulder in a easy familiarity, he wasn’t freaking out about drying bodily fluids yet, and he decided to let himself enjoy the experience.

Any lingering doubt in his mind about his sexuality was cleared away—probably the second he kissed Richie, but if not then, certainly when Richie first laid his mouth on his dick.

He’d had gay sex. And it was fucking incredible. And he was still alive, he was safe. No grave misfortune had befallen him. In fact, he felt a lot more comfortable than he probably should be in the arms of a man he’d met less than three hours ago, but he could blame that on alcohol and residual endorphins from the best orgasm he’d ever had. 

Richie’s 80s playlist was still going strong, so the first chords of ‘I’m Coming Out’ by Diana Ross started playing.

Eddie groaned. “Seriously?”

“What?” Richie defended himself. “I told you I wanted to have fun.”

“Were your other hookups not fun?” 

“Not laugh-out-loud funny, no.”

He snorted a laugh. “Is your dream to fuck a clown?”

He shuddered. _“No._ I just—they felt like a business transaction, you know? In and out, no pun intended. Which is what I wanted, until I got it and realized it wasn’t what I wanted, you know?”

Oh, Eddie knew all about not wanting what you had once you got it.

“You wanted a lay with personality, huh? Happy to be of service.”

Richie tweaked his nose. “Personality, that’s what you call it?”

He hid his grin by pressing a kiss to his chest. “What would you call it? Earth-shattering? Mind-blowing?”

“And you think _I’m_ the one with the ego problem?”

Eddie couldn’t help it. He felt kind of high. Maybe it was just pure giddiness. He tried to rein it in. “Where’d you find these boring guys anyway? I’ll avoid those bars in the future.”

“Ugh, it was just Grindr.”

“Oh, I hate Grindr.”

Richie raised his brows. “You got a Grindr?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t touched it in a month. It’s so overwhelming. And… kind of racist?”

“It’s a lot of things it shouldn’t be,” he agreed.

“Plus, I don’t know how to respond to half the things these guys are asking for. Like, am I a twink? Or did I waste the twink days of my youth being afraid of making eye contact in changing rooms?”

He ran a finger along his arm absently. “I know what you mean. I was never a twink, but I used to be a fucking beanpole, and I’m sure that would’ve gotten me somewhere. Not like now.”

“What’s the problem now?” Eddie hugged him. “You make an excellent cuddler.”

Richie rolled his eyes. “I don’t wanna be known for my cuddling skills.”

“Well, you also give great head, so there’s that.”

“I’ll make sure to have you write a review.”

Eddie nodded, splaying a hand across the air. “A sexy night with Richie. Blowjobs: 10/10. Cuddling: 10/10. Music: 7/10.”

He gasped, offended. “My music’s a 7?”

“I was being generous.”

“Dickbag.” He pinched his side, which turned into tickling him until Eddie screeched his name to make him stop.

When they got around to ordering room service, Eddie hid under the duvet when the food was delivered. They ate on the bed in their underwear, ignoring whatever Richie had put on the TV in favour of talking. 

The more they talked, and teased, and flirted, the stronger a strange sense of familiarity washed over Eddie. He was sure he’d never met this man before, because he couldn’t imagine forgetting him, but it kind of felt like they’d know each other years instead of hours.

He was probably over-thinking it. Or making up a bond spawned by the incredible sex. He’d have to be careful about that.

After they finished eating, Eddie knew he should be getting home. But the idea of putting on his wrinkled clothes without showering first made him want to crawl out of his skin. It was getting late though, and he was tired. If he didn’t leave now, he might not at all. But the shower had looked so good—

“What’re we thinking about, Eds?” Richie asked, chin propped on his hand.

“Don’t call me that,” he said absently. “Can I use your shower?”

A grin spread across his face. “Can I join?”

That grin was dangerous. It made Eddie want to agree to anything Richie asked for.

He shrugged. “It’s your shower.”

And it was spacious enough to fit them both comfortably. Richie had to bend down a little for Eddie to wash his hair, which prompted Richie to say, “See, I’m really not sure you’d be able to reach if I bent over.”

Eddie scratched his nails over Richie’s scalp. “If you wanted it enough, you’d make it work.”

He grunted. “True.”

“Would you want me to?” he asked. “Fuck you?”

“Yeah,” he said like it was a given.

Eddie smiled, quietly pleased. “And would you wanna fuck me?”

“Yeah, dude, look at this fucking ass.” Which he grabbed, bare and slippery. 

It wasn’t long until they were making out and hard again, hands roaming aimlessly, and then eventually very focused on jerking each other off. The glass shower door fogged up as their panting and moans echoed across the tile.

Eddie washed them both off after they came for the second time, and once they were out of the shower, Richie wrapped him in a fluffy hotel robe.

Richie held the robe’s lapels and kissed Eddie long and slow. Eddie was warm and clean and felt wonderfully wanted under his attention, and nothing sounded more appealing to him than sinking back into bed and falling asleep tangled in Richie. 

But he shouldn’t stay. He really, really shouldn’t.

Still, when they returned to the bedroom and Richie sat down on the bed with a water bottle from the minifridge, Eddie crawled up next to him and said, “Can I have some?” and then took the bottle without letting Richie answer.

“What if I was gonna say no?” Richie asked.

Eddie wiped a stray drop of water off his chin. “Then that would’ve been very rude.”

“C’mere.” Richie drew him in by the chin and connected their lips. 

The limit to which they’d have enough of kissing each other didn’t seem to exist. Eddie might have done more kissing tonight than every other day of his life combined. 

“I have to go soon,” Eddie told him, already half in Richie’s lap again. 

“Okay.” There was no missing the disappointment in his voice.

“Really. I need to get going,” Eddie repeated to convince himself.

And that put a smile on Richie’s lips, like the repetition made the statement untrue. 

He wasn’t wrong.

Eddie laid down next to Richie and was asleep within five minutes.

When he awoke the next morning, Richie was still snoring, mouth wide open. 

Eddie had to shit; his inevitable outcome of drinking hard liquor past age thirty. He also had a headache and his eyes felt dry from lack of sleep and his forearm muscles burned—but he didn’t mind that part. 

What he minded was needing to get the hell out of this room and go home, but he couldn't change that.

He rolled out of bed gently so as not to disturb Richie, and quickly found his clothes from last night. He slipped out the door as soon as he could, convincing himself that actually, this was even better than leaving last night. If he’d left when Richie was awake, he might’ve had the impulse to do something stupid like ask for his number. That wasn’t the purpose of this endeavour. And besides, Richie didn’t live in New York, he was just visiting. This wouldn’t go anywhere.

It was a great night—a phenomenal night—and it would stay like that in Eddie’s memories. But he wouldn’t be seeing Richie again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *narrator voice*: little did he know....  
> The rest of the chapters aren't gonna be this long, I just wanted to start this off with a bang (heh).  
> I'm [katranga](http://katranga.tumblr.com) over on tumblr too if you wanna say hi, or ask for snippets, or whatever.  
> Please let me know what you thought! Comments give me a will to live.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, thanks so much for the response so far!! I'm glad people are as excited about this fic as I am!

Saturday was mostly a write-off, between napping off his hangover and his stomach throwing a fit in the bathroom. But when Eddie went for a run on Sunday, the sun seemed to shine brighter, the air felt crisper going down his lungs, the overall vibe of New York was a little less grimy and dark. 

He was proud of himself, which was probably lame, but that didn’t stop him from smiling at nothing while he did errands and cleaned his apartment. He’d set out to do something, even though it was scary and felt nigh-impossible, and he’d done it. He’d hooked up with a guy and he could confirm what he’d avoided addressing for so long; he was gay. 

Not that he had anyone to come out to. He wasn’t interested in sharing his personal business with anybody at work, and he didn’t know how his gym buddies would feel about it. Probably fine, right? It was New York. But he didn’t wanna risk it. And he didn’t have any friends other than that. He could ring up Myra and rub his newfound sexuality in her face, but like fuck was he gonna voluntarily interact with his ex-wife. 

Despite his lack of options, Eddie was itching to discuss the events of last night.

He wanted to know if all one night stands were so… ‘intense’ wasn’t the right word. Revelatory? Good? _Easy?_

Richie had kind of already answered that question for him; he’d said that his other hookups weren’t like theirs. Though Eddie was less interested in if hookups in general were ‘fun’, and more worried about how close you ended up feeling to the other person. How _comfortable_ you were with them. 

And was every stranger supposed to be cool with everything like Richie was? Eddie had an ex-wife? Whatever. Never been with a dude before? No worries. Bossy? Hot. He rolled with all of Eddie’s weird shit with barely a blink. He got more offended by Eddie insulting his playlist than him asking about STIs.

He kept replaying the night in his mind, hovering on each moment it should’ve turned sour. But miraculously, Richie had put up with it all. He even kind of—well, he definitely liked the sex. But he seemed to enjoy Eddie, too.

Eddie rode that high all the way to Monday, where reality reared its ugly head with work and meetings and bad frozen dinners in his glitchy microwave. By the end of the week, his night with Richie was a far-away bright spot in his otherwise miserable existence. 

And the misery was a many-legged beast.

He still hadn’t figured out where Myra used to buy his favourite gluten-free crackers from, despite his many pleas throughout their divorce proceedings. He kept running out of toilet paper because he’d never in his life needed to buy it himself, so he bought four jumbo packs at Costco last month to stave off the problem for a while, but he had nowhere to put them in his little bachelor apartment, so now he had a tower of toilet paper in the corner of his “living room”. 

Except he had convinced himself he didn’t need a TV, so the Ikea couch was just up against a wall facing the kitchen and his bed. He had an Xbox and a pile of games, which Myra had rarely let him play, with nothing to play them on _now_ , and a four year old laptop that periodically wheezed like an airplane taking off for no discernible reason. 

And he was nervous about spending money because this apartment cost way too much because _New York_ (a terrible place to live) and for so long he’d based his budget on two incomes, and a wife to split the bills with, plus a house mortgage he’d one day pay off, but now he didn’t have any of that. He’d dipped into his savings for a good divorce lawyer because Myra had wanted fucking everything even though he’d already given her the house and—

Richie had been a really nice distraction.

It was Friday again, and Eddie had half the idea to try his hand at another bar, but he knew he’d just be thinking about Richie the whole time. (Which wasn’t normal, was it?)

Eddie argued with himself for a few minutes before sitting down on his bed with his laptop and signing up for Netflix. He searched for ‘Richie’, not expecting much, but the first two options were comedy specials (within the genres raunchy and irreverent) starring Richie Tozier. The name rung a bell; he was pretty sure one of the idiots at work was a fan.

Then Eddie googled his name and found Richie’s Twitter, Instagram, and a handful of late-night talk show interviews on Youtube.

This guy was a real celebrity. Shit.

Eddie clicked on his first special. Richie’s opening joke was about pussy. It had come out five years ago. He switched to the one from two years ago. The first joke was about his dick, and then about a fight with his girlfriend. He paused that, watched a few more recent interviews, then checked his Wikipedia page. Finally, he scrolled through a bit of his Twitter feed.

Richie’s latest post was a selfie with some animal filter that made his eyes enormous and gave him fluffy little ears. The caption across it read: _the gf says I look cute like this. does that make her a furry?_ 🐻 _discuss._

Yup. Supremely closeted.

Eddie sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

He returned to Richie’s first special and clicked play.

The specials weren’t funny. His interviews were mostly extended dick jokes, plus whatever weird games they got celebrities to do on the internet these days. Some of those were funny. His Twitter feed made him look like an asshole, which he was, so at least that was honest, except for the shit about a girlfriend who almost certainly didn’t exist.

Eddie tried to retweet a joke about cheetos and dicks, but he’d deleted his last Twitter account three years ago. So he made a new one, @ekasspbrak89, and retweeted Richie’s joke. Then he slammed his laptop shut.

What was he doing? Why had he just spent the last, Jesus, _five hours_ greedily eating up Richie’s online content? What did he expect to get out of this? It was probably weird he’d looked him up at all. Certainly invasive, to go through his Twitter feed. But it’s a public forum, right? And Richie had _told_ him to get his own Netflix account…

But he wasn’t out. And he lived in LA. And Eddie had no way to contact him for any reason. So what was Eddie’s end goal here?

He forced himself to go to sleep.

The next day, he masturbated to Richie’s dumb comedy special. 

Then he decided he was moving on. 

Through the week, he opened Grindr back up, but it was just as intimidating as the first time. Also, he didn’t like texting. While he was an asshole in person, he knew he came across as a raging dick through text—he’d gotten enough feedback on work emails to be uncomfortably conscious of it.

Even when he managed to tamp himself down enough to get a guy interested in meeting up, Eddie asked about an STI test and got a ‘lol’ as a response, followed by ‘i’ll let u kno’ a minute later. Eddie didn’t hold his breath.

He’d gotten a test done after his night with Richie. It had been far from his first STI test, even though he’d only ever slept with Myra before that. His doctor had long stopped questioning his annual request (“So you want to be tested for STIs again, even though you’ve only ever been with your wife, who you haven’t had sex with in four months anyway?”) If his doctor hadn’t already had _‘_ __h_ ypochondriac!’ _ scrawled in beg red letters across Eddie’s file, he’d probably have asked if one of them was cheating.

Eddie had gone to the closest health clinic for his latest test instead, to avoid his doctor’s knowing looks. He’d had enough of them when Eddie told him to remove Myra as his emergency contact. 

He got panic sweats when people acted like they knew him, as though they could see right past his carefully constructed exterior to a truth he refused to acknowledge himself.

In any case, Eddie knew he wasn’t being unreasonable with asking to see potential hook ups’ tests. He’d swiped past a few profiles requesting a negative STI test before meeting, but those guys seemed as neurotic as Eddie, and _more_ of his own annoying energy sure as hell wasn’t gonna get him relaxed enough to fuck a stranger.

He needed someone chill, but not chill enough to piss him off. Like, they could piss him off a little, but in the right way. And what did that even mean?

(Richie. He meant Richie).

Richie, who Eddie should forget about for any numbers of reasons. He was a fucking celebrity. He was closeted. They’d already hooked up and Eddie—he’d just ended a disaster of a fifteen-year marriage. The idea of being tied up in another relationship threatened to make him hyperventilate. He’d hook up with him once more, maybe, but Richie was in California anyway. 

All of that was an absolute non-starter, so Eddie needed to stop! Jerking off! To Richie’s comedy shows!

Eddie spent the better part of a month frustrating himself on Grindr before he gave up and deleted the app.

And went to a gay bar. 

Again, he spent all his time getting ready trying to convince himself not to go. But he went. And he felt so goddamn old. And depressed, that he’d wasted his youth being fucking terrified, and married to a woman who fed into the same complexes his mother gave him, and now he was trying to catch up on all the experiences he’d missed, and he couldn’t stop complaining about the volume of the music, and the stickiness of the bar, and the deadening loneliness pulsing in him as he nursed an old-fashioned.

Even though he could probably safely order a fucking Piña Colada at a fucking gay bar.

At least there were a lot of hot men around.

And it wasn’t like he wasn’t getting attention. People seemed friendly, at least, even if they weren’t directly interested in getting into his pants. Guys kept asking him if it was his first time out, which was making him self-conscious, but maybe not as self-conscious as he’d be if no one at all approached him.

He was on his second drink and debating whether to get hammered enough to stop worrying about everything or just call it quits right then, when a waif of a guy in a crop top and booty shorts came up to him and yelled in his ear, “Are you somebody’s dad?”

Eddie flushed. He hadn’t had any cool, casual clothes last time he went out, so he certainly didn’t have any gay bar-appropriate outfits. He was a painfully-obvious forty years old.

“No!” he replied over the music.

“You wanna be my daddy?” the guy asked, and shriek-laughed at the stunned look on Eddie’s face. “Dance with me!”

“I don’t think so—”

“You just gonna stare all night?” He tugged on his hand. “Come on, this is a banger!”

Eddie allowed himself to be led to the dance floor, where the guy had a similarly young group of friends dancing in ways Eddie couldn’t dream of imitating. He shuffled tensely, nowhere near as proudly awkward as Richie had been at the hotel. That’s where his mind was, dancing with Richie to bad 80s music, when the guy in front of him bent fully over and jammed his ass against Eddie’s crotch.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie said, grabbing his hip to stay steady

“Julien, you’re gonna kill this guy!” one of his friends shouted.

Julien, presumably, flipped a look back at Eddie before turning around with a laugh. He put a hand on Eddie’s shoulder and yelled, “No, don’t die, you’re so sexy, aha!”

“Ah—thanks.” Eddie’s hand was still on his hip, on bare skin thanks to the crop top. The guy felt so _small_.

“What’s your name?”

“Eddie.”

“Eddie? I’m Julien!”

“How old are you?” Eddie couldn’t help but ask. He looked like he was still in high school, which couldn’t be right because he was clearly drunk, but Eddie was still trying to be nice to the kid, because you were supposed to be nice to children, right?

“Fifty.”

“Fifteen?” Eddie repeated the misheard response incredulously and jerked his hand off him.

He threw his head back with another laugh. “I said fifty. Five-oh.” He fluttered his lashes. “But I’m twenty one.”

Which Eddie hoped to god was true.

“How old are you?” Julien asked.

“Fifty,” Eddie said flatly.

“Liar,” he accused at his ear.

“I’m a lot closer to fifty than you are.” Had he ever felt so fucking old?

“Well you look good for fifty.” He hooked an arm around his neck and placed Eddie’s hand back on his hip. “Was your last dance the Charleston or something?”

Eddie snorted. “No, it was the Twist.”

Julien shook his hips. “Then show me your moves, daddy.”

“Please—please don’t call me that,” Eddie choked out. 

He scream-laughed again. 

Eddie did his best approximation of the Twist, which Julien imitated before going back to grinding on him. His hands roamed over Eddie’s chest and arms, clearly appreciative, and that was—nice. More than nice, it made him feel pretty damn good that he had a fighting chance in this gay dating pool despite showing up so late.

But then he ran the numbers and figured out how old he’d been when this kid was born and he wished he’d never learned math.

“We’re going out for a vape,” Julien said after one song. Or it might’ve been two, it was all remixed or house mixes or whatever and Eddie couldn’t tell when one ended and another began. “You wanna come?”

“A vape?” Eddie asked incredulously.

“Like an e-cig.”

“I know what a vape is,” he snapped. “It’s still nicotine, so it’s still addictive, and the risk of popcorn lung alone—”

“You’re cute,” he interrupted. “Come find me when we get back!”

And Eddie got the hell off the dance floor. He wandered around looking for the bathroom without considering what a club bathroom would entail. The bathrooms were unisex, but the one with urinals smelled disgusting, and the one without urinals had a gaggle of girls crowding the doorway. He hovered awkwardly, wondering if he should just go home to avoid the situation altogether. He was probably going to leave, anyway. 

“You can use this one if you want,” one of the women offered, waving to the bathroom she was blocking.

“Thanks,” Eddie said as the crowd parted to let him through.

This bathroom still threatened to give him stress hives, but he picked a stall with a working lock and took a breath 

What was he fucking doing here? Almost everyone around him was half his age, and the older men were all wrapped up in the young ones. 

Eddie, clearly, would have no trouble doing the same—if he wanted to. Richie’s teasing question about picking up a twenty-something to make him feel young bounced through his head. How did hooking up with a young person make anybody feel anything other than decrepit? He was divorced, for god’s sake. That guy—Julien—probably hadn’t even finished college yet. Eddie wanted to discuss floating interest rates for savings plans with him, not get him in bed.

The important thing was that he _could_ , right? Wasn’t that why he’d come here in the first place, worried that Richie was a fluke, and he’d never be able to catch somebody again? Maybe if he went to a more appropriate venue—he’d just picked the highest rated gay club closest to his apartment, but there had to be gay bars out there catering to an older audience. He needed to do more research.

For now… he was going home. He felt ridiculous.

He took a piss and washed his hands, and wiped them on his pants because he didn’t trust the stack of paper towels on the graffitied counter.

He headed straight for the door, because he hadn’t trusted coat check either, so he had no reason to stop, but just as he was getting close, he heard a screech of, “Eddie!”

He turned around to find Julien was pouting at him. “Are you leaving?”

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie said. “Thanks for the dance.”

“You don’t wanna stay for one more?”

“No, I gotta be getting home.”

He crossed his arms. “You’re not married, are you?”

“Not—no.” He didn’t need Eddie’s life story.

“Good. Wouldn’t wanna make anybody jealous.”

Before Eddie could ask jealous about what, Julien put his hands on his shoulders and planted a slow kiss on him. He tasted like sugary alcohol and sweet smoke.

Julien pulled away with a smirk. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Maybe!” he said, face burning.

His laughter trailed after him as he darted out the door.

Eddie got home from the bar and poured himself a glass of wine, after staring at the bottle for five minutes trying to convince himself to drink water instead.

He settled into bed with the wine, lube, and his laptop opened to Richie’s show. Again. He watched with rapt attention as Richie told the same bad jokes Eddie had heard a dozen times by now, in an ugly shirt that looked like he’d picked it up on its third cycle through Goodwill.

He came hard across his stomach, fantasizing about Richie’s stubble and big hands and dirty grin.

As Eddie got his breath back, Richie continued his leisurely stroll across the screen. _“If you ask my last girlfriend, the worst part of dating me was my mouth. Many would agree! They call me Trashmouth for a reason. But you know what she’d say was the best part, if she was being honest? Also my mouth.”_

“Shut _up_ , Richie.” Eddie slammed his laptop shut.

He stared up at his popcorn ceiling for a long minute.

Then, with cum cooling on his skin, he grabbed his phone off the duvet. He opened Twitter, and ignored the little voice in his head screaming at him to not slip into the DMs of some guy he’d met one time a month ago and couldn’t stop thinking about.

 _Hey Richie,_ he typed carefully. _It’s Eddie. Been thinking about you._

He hit send.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, a cliffhanger! Ish. Let's see if he responds... :P  
> As promised, I did start posting the sequel to my college reddie au last week, it's called 'The "We" of It All', so check that out if you're interested (I promise that'll be the last self-promo, at least until it's finished lol).  
> Please let me know how you liked this chapter! I know there wasn't really any Richie in it, but I promise every other chapter is chock full of him, so you have to wait just a little longer.  
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, thank you so much for all your comments, I'm glad you're all enjoying it so far!  
> I've had QUITE the week, as I'm sure many people have, so I hope this update can offer some respite.  
> I've never used texting as much I have in this fic, so let me know if I can format it any better to make it easier to read. I considered using skins to show texts as screenshots, but that seemed like a lot of effort, so I didn't ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> Anyway, please enjoy!

When Eddie woke the next morning, he found a reply timestamped about an hour after he’d sent the DM. 

@trashmouthtozier: _Holy shit_

_You’re not gonna be weird, are you?_

Eddie made himself a coffee before he even considered responding. He needed the strength; his knees had nearly lost the ability to keep him upright.

He sat at his little kitchen table with his laptop and swatted away every screaming thought telling him not to reply, to delete Twitter, throw away his phone. This was the exact outcome he’d been hoping for, so why did he feel like popping a pill?

He took a long sip of hot coffee instead, and sent a carefully constructed response.

@ekasspbrak89: _I mean_

_Not any weirder than messaging you like this in the first place_

Richie must’ve been waiting for a response, even though it was definitely some stupidly early time in the morning for him if he was in LA. He replied after a minute.

@trashmouthtozier: _Is this weird? Or is this innovative…_

_What have you been thinking about??_

@ekasspbrak89: _Do other people have access to these messages? Like your assistant or social media team or whatever?_

@trashmouthtozier: _Yeah, but I can delete them before anybody reads them_

Eddie drummed his fingers on his kitchen table. He thought back to the night they’d met, and every time Richie’s face lit up when Eddie said something horribly rude.

@ekasspbrak89: _I’ve been getting off watching your comedy specials_

_They’re not funny_

_Maybe it’s because they’re so grossly straight_

@trashmouthtozier: _Somehow not the first time I’ve been called grossly straight_

@ekasspbrak89: _Are you like at least bi?_

@trashmouthtozier: _No, fully closeted homo. Don’t tell ;P_

_516 555 4123_

_For personal use only. If I have to change my number again because it got on the internet somehow I’ll throw my phone into the ocean_

Eddie picked up his cell phone and plugged in the number. He texted, _Rich?_

Almost immediately he got the reply, _Eds!! What do you mean you got off watching my specials???_

_Like you got a Netflix account just to stalk me and then you got so turned on watching me tell bad jokes about pussy that you came?_

Eddie rolled his eyes.

Eddie: _How am I already regretting messaging you?_

Richie: _:((( I wanna hear more about you masturbating about me!!! You brought it up first!_

Eddie: _I wasn’t stalking you_

_You literally told me to go on Netflix to look you up_

Richie: _Yeah, fine, I concede. Now_ 🍆🍆🍆👀

He shook his head. This man was a fucking idiot. He was so hot for it. 

Eddie moved to the couch with his coffee, stretching across it as he typed out his reply.

Eddie: _I just like listening to your voice. And looking at your face. And you dry hump the air several times! And you’re fucking gross, you imitate having sex, so you’re like moaning and panting and biting your lip. How am I not supposed to jerk off to that?_

Eddie felt himself stirring in his sweatpants from thinking about it too hard.

Richie: _Oh wow_

_Hot_

_But don’t blame me, you just said it was gross!_

Eddie: _Yeah! Well! Desperate times call for desperate measures I guess_

Richie: _You calling yourself desperate?_

Eddie: _You’re the celebrity who responded to a Twitter DM_

Richie: _Do you think it’s hot that I’m a celebrity?_ 😎

Eddie: _No, I think it’s sad that you’re closeted when your career is so heavily focused on sex with women_

Richie: _Dude I’m trying to jerk off here_

Eddie: _Oh, sorry. Want a pic?_

Richie: _!!!?_

_YES!_

Eddie trailed a hand down to his crotch, growing harder thinking about Richie getting himself off, a gloriously dumb circle jerk. He remembered the weight of Richie’s dick in his hand, the way his breath left him harshly as he got closer to coming. 

When Eddie’s pants were thoroughly tented, he snapped a pic. Then a few more, trying to get the angle right. He’d never done this before.

Leaving no time to wonder if this was really an activity he should be partaking in, he sent off a picture.

Richie: 👅💦

_Your pants are in the way tho_

Eddie: _Do I get something?_

Richie wasted no time replying with a blurry picture of his erection pushing out of his boxers, his hand fisting the base.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie said aloud. He shucked off his sweatpants and sent a similar picture.

Richie: _You look so good babe. Wish I was there on my knees again getting all messy_

Eddie: _God that was so fucking hot_

Richie: _Fucking loved the feel of you in my mouth_

_Filling me up real good_

Eddie: _Jesus christ_

_I’m clsoe_

_Is that embarrisng?_

Richie: _No it’s so hot_

_Wanna make you moan like you did last time_

_Let you come on my face if you wanted_

“Oh god.” Eddie’s hand sped up, imagining it was Richie’s big one. He remembered Richie nestled between his thighs, moaning around his dick. Imagined Richie’s mouth dropping open expectantly and—cum streaked across Eddie’s chest. He squeezed his eyes shut to pretend it was Richie getting covered in it instead.

After a second, Eddie messaged with his clean hand, _That dirty talk is fucking dangerous_

Richie: _You cum, baby_

_?_

Eddie: _Yeah_

Richie: 👀 _pic?_

Eddie sent off a pic of his chest behind his cum-covered hand flipping him off.

It was a few minutes before Richie replied with, _Well! I’m glad you messaged. I kinda shoulda gone to sleep hours ago tho_

Eddie snorted. He wrote, _I thought it was a little early/late for you…_

Richie: _No rest for the wicked ;)_

 _I’ll talk to you when I wake up_ 😘

Which, all in all, went much better than Eddie had expected it to. Also much faster. He hadn’t given a second thought before sending such sensitive pictures. 

What if—what if… He stopped short.

What _were_ the consequences of sending dick pics? It wasn’t like Richie was going to plaster them across the internet. And neither of their faces were in them anyway.

What if… their phones got hacked? Sending dick pics wasn’t illegal, just kind of gross. And yeah, Eddie was a private person so he didn’t want other people seeing his dick, but like. It would be a hacker’s fault for digging through his phone if they got an eyeful of him.

Feeling a little nervous at the lack of expected anxiety, Eddie scrolled back through the pictures and considered deleting them, but didn’t. 

He gulped down his pills just in case and went about his day with an extra pep in his step that hadn’t been there since he’d last seen Richie.

He took a shower, worked out at the gym (remembering Richie’s gym rat comment), took another shower, browsed Walmart for sales on TVs, bought some groceries—he was gonna try doing a crockpot stew again. The ladies at work kept talking about how easy it was, but Eddie’s previous attempts ended up with a burnt bottom and bland vegetables. He picked up some seasoning packets, feeling much more optimistic about the whole endeavour. About life in general, if he was being honest.

Maybe it was childish feeling this good after talking to just one person. But Eddie didn’t really have any friends, and it was natural to need people, right? It wasn’t dumb to feel happy after chatting with a friend (or whatever he and Richie were). He decided it was good he was getting some social interaction (if that’s what he was gonna call it).

The crockpot had been a wedding gift that neither he nor Myra had used during their marriage, but somehow the instruction packet had disappeared by the time Eddie got his hands on it. He’d failed to find instructions online last time, so now he was trying to again to avoid fucking up his latest culinary foray.

That’s where he was when his phone rang—at his kitchen table with his laptop open with ten different crockpot tabs, and potatoes and carrots half-chopped on the counter. 

Eddie checked the call display. He hadn’t saved Richie’s number with a name yet, but he knew it was him.

“Edward Kaspbrak speaking,” he answered reflexively.

“Sorry, did I interrupt a meeting?” Richie laughed, and it sunk straight into Eddie’s bones. 

He stood to dispel the warmth rushing through him just from hearing Richie’s voice. “No, I’m at home. Trying to make stew.”

“Stew? For what?”

“To eat, what the fuck?”

“Oh shit, you cook?” He sounded impressed.

“Not really at all, no. I always used to have someone to cook for me.”

“Like, a personal chef?”

“Like my mother and then my ex-wife,” he said flatly.

He laughed again. “So you’re on your own for the first time and making _stew_?”

“It’s supposed to be easy!” He sighed, poking at a raw potato. “I’ve got frozen meals as back up.”

“Shit, I guess I can’t really talk. I get everything delivered.”

“Like takeout? That’s gotta be bad for your cholesterol.”

“Oh, we’re talking PostMates, Uber Eats, DoorDash. It’s not just pizza and Chinese, it’s anything I feel like paying an inordinate delivery fee for,” he said it like a brag.

“That still doesn’t sound very healthy.”

“You wanna send me your stew, then?”

“Oh, I doubt you’re gonna want this.”

“I never heard that from you mom.”

Eddie frowned. “My mother is dead.”

“Oh. Sorry?”

“Nah. It’s—whatever.” He was about to ask if Richie had ever used a crockpot, even though it was probably safe to assume the answer was a resounding no, when Richie hopped to a new topic.

“Hey, so I was thinking, it’s kind of karma that you kept thinking about me when you left without saying goodbye.”

Eddie smiled, leaning against the counter. “I would’ve been thinking about you whether or not I’d said goodbye.”

“Oh yeah? I’m just that memorable?”

“Yeah. You were… fun.” His hand curled at his side, instinctively wanting to curl into Richie’s shirt to pull him closer. But he was so incredibly out of reach.

He could hear the smile in Richie’s voice when he replied, “Yeah, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, either.”

Couldn’t _stop_ thinking about him! Heat rose to Eddie’s cheeks like a teenager talking to his first crush. Not that he had any experience with that personally.

“What made you reach out last night?” Richie asked. “I mean, I assume you’ve been jerking off to me for a while, right? So you’ve known my name and Twitter for a bit.”

Eddie shook his head. “Um, yeah, I guess I thought it would be invasive since you’re a public figure and all—” Richie snorted “—but then yesterday I went to a gay bar and I—I dunno. Most of the guys there were like fetuses—”

“And you missed your mature lover?” he asked huskily.

Eddie barked a laugh. “Who the fuck is calling you mature? You make dick jokes like you need them to survive.”

“Nah, it’s the babes who need my dick—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he said with no heat. “You’re so weird.”

“You’re the one who missed me,” he sang. “You find anyone interesting last night?”

“Not really,” Eddie said. Richie hummed at him, clearly wanting more details. “There was this guy literally half my age who kept calling me daddy.”

Richie laughed so hard he wheezed. “Oh my god—did you—so did you hook up with him?”

“No!” Eddie said. “He kissed me when I was leaving, that’s it. He was practically a child! It would be weird!”

“I dunno, those young dudes have some fucking moves on them. You can just lay back and let them do all the work.”

“That’s what you want from sex?” Eddie lifted a brow. “To lay there like a log?”

“Well. If I’m tired.”

Eddie laughed. “Then I’m glad you weren’t tired last time, I guess.”

“I _was,_ I’d just done a show,” he said. “I wasn’t even looking for a hookup when I met you, but you—you look like you’ve got a fucking stick up your ass, right?” Eddie would’ve argued if it weren’t patently true. “I figured you were waiting for a date that was gonna bomb—”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“You’re welcome,” he retorted. “But then you started mouthing off and sat down in front of me. And you laughed at my dong joke—”

“As a professional comedian, don’t people laugh at your jokes all time?” Eddie asked incredulously.

“They laugh at somebody’s jokes. I don’t write them anymore.”

Eddie snapped his fingers. “So _that’s_ why they’re so bad!” 

“Hey, they’re good enough that I got another Netflix special in the works,” Richie bragged.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, more material for your spank bank, aren’t you excited?”

“Yeah, do another bit where you throw your head back and pretend to come, that really did it for me.”

“You know, it’s better in person.”

“I remember!” Eddie tried not to think about it too hard in that moment. He still had a stew to make. 

“I’m uh…” Richie cleared his throat. “I’m gonna be back in New York in a month for some meetings, if you wanna get together again.”

Eddie couldn’t hold back the grin that split his face. He was so lost in excitement that it didn’t occur to him to freak out that his one-night stand was morphing into something altogether different.

“Yes,” Eddie said immediately. “Yeah, let’s—get together. For sure.”

“Yeah? Great,” Richie breathed. “I’ll book a hotel with a nice shower.”

“Could you get one with a rain shower head? I’ve always wanted to try one.”

Richie laughed. “Yeah, whatever you want, Eds.”

Eddie laid a hand over his pounding heart. He didn’t even correct the nickname.

He ended up putting Richie on speaker phone while he finished putting his stew together, and then while it was simmering or whatever, he sat on his couch and they talked some more. Finally Richie had to go, and he said he’d send Eddie the details about his trip to New York. 

When he looked at the timestamp on his phone, he was gobsmacked to see they’d talked for over two hours. It felt like five minutes.

He sat in shocked delight for a minute before panic set in, and he had to talk himself out of calling the whole thing off. 

After he’d thoroughly explained to himself that he’d never see Richie again, they had plans to get together in a month. And as much as he’d tried to convince himself otherwise, that really, _really_ was what Eddie wanted. It was entirely unnerving. Since when did he just get what he wanted? This was all going to end in ruin somehow.

But maybe—maybe that was good? If their weekend together ended terribly, then he could get over Richie. 

Even if it did go well, Richie lived across the country. They barely knew each other. None of this meant anything, except that Eddie was gay, and Richie was gay, and their versions of weird and annoying paired up pretty well.

For now, he could enjoy himself. Just a little bit. For once.

They texted the rest of the weekend. Richie made Eddie download Snapchat so they could send pictures (“We can send pictures through text, Richie.” “The _filters_ , it’s about the filters, Eds.”). Plus they disappeared immediately, which was good for dick pics. Eddie ended up screenshotting half the pictures anyway. (“You know it tells me when you save a picture?” “Yeah, because it tells me when you do, too. Dick.”)

Monday arrived, and his high didn’t wear off this time, because he was still talking to Richie. It was near constant, every time he looked at his phone there was a new message from him,

Through the week, he adjusted his work ethic to be more accommodating to how much he wanted to talk to Richie. He worked in quick bursts of twenty minutes, and then spend like ten minutes texting Richie. He wasn’t getting any _less_ work done, he was sure of it. 

It wasn’t like anybody would call him out for it; he had his own office to hide away in. There was a second desk, because he was supposed to share it like all the other tenured employees, but he’d run off everyone who’d sat there so far. And his boss was a fucking idiot, which gave Eddie all the time in the world to fuck around like half of his coworkers.

Eddie sent off his third email asking for updates on various projects, and then leaned back in his desk chair to text Richie.

Eddie: _So hey, about your visit. I don’t want to be annoying…_

Richie: _Why not? It’s one of life’s greatest joys_

Eddie: _For you, I’m sure_

Richie: _What’s up? You requesting a jacuzzi too now?_

Eddie: _I mean, I wouldn’t say no to one…_

He tapped his phone against his desk debating how to phrase his request. He started a few different ways, ellipses popping up as he wrote and rewrote, until Richie interrupted with, _Dude, just be annoying about it. I don’t care_

Eddie: _STI test_

_I would like you to bring a recent one_

Richie: _K_

Eddie: _For my peace of mind_

_Like if we’re gonna be going further than last time, I don’t wanna worry about it_

Richie: _Okay_

Eddie: _Because I will_

_Worry about it_

_If I don’t have proof that I don’t have to worry_

Richie: _BABE_

 _I’ll get you an STI test. Trust me, I don’t want you wasting that pretty little head of yours worrying when I’m trying to make you_ 💦🤤

Eddie: 😒

A knock sounded at his door. His coworker Harriet frowned at him from the doorway. 

Harriet’s tight black curls were tucked away in a neat bun, making her long face look even more severe. When interns tried hitting on her by asking where she was from, she always gave a different country as an answer. She answered most personal questions like that, so even after four years of working with her, Eddie knew little about her other than that she was in the small minority of employees doing any goddamn work here.

She hovered just inside his doorway, ready to rid herself of his presence at a moment’s notice. “You’ll still have that Markerman presentation ready for tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t I?” Eddie replied.

“Because you’re spending more time texting than working.”

“You want to check on what I have so far?” It could’ve easily been a casual offer, but Eddie snapped it out.

Harriet didn’t blink. She was used to him. Her eyes had the same snap that Eddie’s words did but, professional to a fault, she said calmly, “Yeah, if you could?” 

He attached the file while she waited in his doorway, and he emailed her the report. “Just gotta throw it all in a PowerPoint. Let me know if you have any notes.”

“I will.” She smiled and Eddie glared at her until she left.

Harriet was his only coworker he’d allow to check on him like that, because they worked the same; competent to the point of irritation.

He immediately returned to texting Richie.

Eddie: _I hate my stupid fucking job_

Richie: _You want a pic that’ll distract you?_

Eddie, expecting a dick pic, wrote, _Yes_

Instead Richie sent a Snapchat video with one of those dumb filters where it was just Richie’s head on top of a dancing chicken. He popped his brows up and down dramatically, opening his mouth in faux shock until he finally winked. Eddie covered his mouth to hide his laughter. 

Eddie: _You’re dumb_

Richie: _You laugh?_

Eddie: _Yeah_

Richie: _Then I did my job_

Eddie: _Gimme twenty minutes to do mine_

Richie: _I never need more than twenty minutes either ;)_

Sometimes they talked on the phone on Eddie’s drive home, if Richie was gonna be busy later that night. A majority of time was normally spent on Richie making fun of Eddie’s road rage, but they got around to other topics, too.

“Hey, uh…” Richie said, sounding a little like a hot radio host playing through the speakers in Eddie’s car. “You know the other day you were saying, like, if we were gonna go further than last time?”

Eddie snapped on his blinker and switched lanes, nearly cutting off a rusty sedan behind him. “Yeah.”

“Do you want to?” Richie asked. “Like, is that the plan?”

“I’m thinking about it,” Eddie replied. He hadn’t gotten any farther into planning than requesting the STI test from Richie and stocking up on lube and condoms. He was still doing research. “Why, what do you wanna do?”

“Well, what do you wanna do?”

He rolled his eyes. “I told you, I’m still thinking about it. Obviously you have an idea in mind, so instead of acting like a preteen, just tell me—”

“I want you to fuck me,” Richie said simply.

Eddie’s breath left him in a shot, and heat rose in his chest.

“So, you can think on that, I guess,” he continued leisurely. 

He swallowed hard as he turned a corner. “Is that why you were weird when we were doing phone stuff last night?”

‘Doing phone stuff’. Eddie could _think_ the word phone sex, but he wasn’t about to say it in casual conversation.

Richie laughed, surround sound through the car stereo. “Yeah, I really wanted to talk about getting your dick in my ass, but I didn’t wanna throw you off. I know you haven’t done that stuff before.”

“How considerate,” Eddie said dryly. He checked his rearview; his face was bright red. “So that’s how you’d wanna do it?”

He heard Richie bang out a quick rhythm on a table or something. “Oh, we can do it any way you like it, Eddie-baby. But you kept talking about bending me over last time, so that’s what’s been keeping me up at night, if you know what I mean.”

“Richie, I’m driving,” he reminded him tightly.

He laughed again, and his voice dropped low. “So you’d want to?”

Eddie stopped at a red light and took a deep breath. 

He could very easily picture getting Richie under him, broad shoulders stretched across the bedsheets, making him feel so good he’d moan Eddie’s name. The specifics of getting there were still something to consider, but the sensation of going _into_ someone was familiar to Eddie, definitely something he could handle.

On the other hand, as much as he liked the vague concept of Richie fucking him, the reality of getting something shoved up his ass currently felt uncomfortably invasive.

“Eds?” Richie prompted.

Eddie muttered some noncommittal response and passed through the green light ahead of him. “Yeah, um—we’d have to shower.”

“Of course.”

He tilted his head, pulling a face. “I might uh… maybe gloves? For the, you know.”

“I mean, I can finger myself,” Richie offered, with all the vocabulary that Eddie couldn’t delve into until they were already well into masturbating over the phone. “If that’s freaking you out.”

Which brought up the image of Richie, legs spread wide and willing, lubed fingers buried in his ass getting himself ready to take Eddie’s cock. 

Eddie’s pants got significantly tighter, and he snapped out a strangled, “Can we talk about this when I’m _not driving?”_

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, babe,” Richie said, sounding distinctly not apologetic. “But we’re leaning toward a yes?”

 _“Yes._ Jesus Christ, Richie, if I get into an accident because you can’t stop talking about getting fucked up the ass—”

He let loose a raucous burst of laughter. “Shit, I like you, man. I gotta go anyway, but I’ll try to call you later, okay? We can get _all_ the way into it.”

Eddie was blushing, and there wasn’t really anything he could do about that. “Yeah, fine.”

“Hugs and kisses!” he trilled before they hung up. 

The next week, Eddie was texting Richie from his couch. He would’ve just called, but Richie was in a meeting or something where he was supposed to be paying attention to people. Evidently he wasn’t, but texting was probably a bit less rude than making a phone call in the middle of it. Eddie was sure he was a fucking nightmare to work with.

Eddie: _So I’m taking a look at your itinerary when you’re in town next week_

_And it’s pretty packed_

Richie: _Ugh yeah_

_But none of the meetings should last as long as what’s scheduled_

_And most of them are near the hotel if not at the hotel itself_

_So I’ll be in and out of the hotel room all day_

Eddie considered this, and what it meant for their potential time together. He went with the dumb suggestion first.

Eddie: _So did you want me hanging around your hotel room all weekend or…?_

It was dumb because it was probably a huge waste of time, completely not sensible, and it was growing more on Eddie by the minute.

Richie: _That depends, I can’t tell your tone through text_

 _Are you_ 😒 _or_ 🤔 _?_

Eddie: 🤔

Richie: 😎 _then it sounds good to me! You can order as much room service as you want_

Eddie: _And it’s in a nice area, I could check out some stores, run errands. Go to the hotel gym_

Richie: _That’s right! You could go to the gym!_ 👅💪💦

Richie probably used too many emojis for a man his age, but Eddie didn’t complain. Richie was onto something, it helped express tone. Even though Richie’s tone was rarely anything other than tongue, wink or eggplant.

Eddie: _What are you gonna do with that fucking tongue, huh?_

Richie: _Lick the sweat off those abs, baby!_

Eddie: _Gross_

_Looking forward to it_

Richie: _Cool, so I’ll get two key cards so we can both come and go as we please_

_If you know what I mean ;)_

Eddie: _Dude, I know you’re excited, but how many times can you realistically come in one weekend?_

Richie: _I guess we’ll find out_ 😏💦🍆🧟

Eddie: _?_

Richie: _whoops, finger slipped. Didn’t mean the_ 🧟

_Unless…_

Eddie: _Unless what?????_

Richie: 😉😉😉

Eddie: _lol ur dumb_

Richie: _And that’s why I get paid the big bucks! Talk to you later babeeee_ 😘

Eddie’s last stew turned out so well that he made another one and took it for lunch. He made sure to thank the coworker who suggested it, because he’d complained about it not working enough times in the past. 

He was eating it in the lunch room when he opened a snap from Richie sent twenty minutes ago. The caption read: _Got too excited thinking about this weekend and popped a boner at a brainstorming session :(_. The picture was dark, clearly snapped from under a table, with Richie’s hand half-covering the bulge in his jeans.

That was exactly why Eddie had a strict business-only thinking rule when he was interacting with coworkers. He’d let his mind wander during a chat with his boss and two incompetent jackasses when he first started texting Richie, and he’d had to excuse himself to the washroom to calm down. 

He was pretty sure they assumed he’d gotten a sudden case of diarrhoea, but that was still less embarrassing than popping a boner in the middle of the day like a preteen.

Despite that lesson, he easily gave in to Richie’s clear request. Their weekend together was so close he could taste it, and he was getting hornier by the day.

He licked his spoon clean, responding, _You jerk off under the table? Imagine it was my mouth?_

An incoming call immediately came in, Richie’s face with a raccoon filter popping onto his screen.

“Hey,” Eddie answered. “You’re lucky I’m on lunch.”

Richie’s breathing was already heavy. “They wouldn’t let me leave early to jerk off, can you believe that?”

“Unbelievable. Aren’t you like their boss?”

“You’d think. I’ve been at half mast for like half an hour.”

Eddie took another bite of his stew. “So what’re you doing now?”

“Masturbating in a public bathroom.”

“Are you twelve?”

“You wanna help me finish?” Richie whined.

“I’m in the lunch room,” he said dryly. People from accounting were eating salads at the table next to him. An intern not long for this position was fucking up coffee orders at the Keurig machine. “How often do you do this?”

“Jerk off in public or in general?”

“In general.” Eddie kept his ‘I’d certainly hope jerking off in public is a one-off’ to himself considering the listening ears in the room.

“Uh, I think I’ve told you every time since I gave you my number.”

Eddie laughed. “Okay, as long as it’s not more than that.”

He’d be worried about Richie’s dick falling off.

Richie groaned, for reasons unknown to Eddie. “Fuck, it would’ve been hot if you were under the table sucking me off.” Eddie moved his stew closer, because he could tell Richie was gonna run his mouth now until he came, and Eddie wouldn’t need to contribute much. “Making me come in front of all those people.”

Eddie hummed, unable to stop his blush.

“I can’t wait to see you again, Eds,” he continued. “I’ve been dreaming about what you’re gonna do to me.”

“Like what?”

He moaned, and Eddie could hear it echo through the bathroom. “Whatever you want to do. You gonna fuck me?”

“Mm hm,” Eddie hummed, nodding at Harriet as she walked by, pointing at her watch.

“Right into the mattress, so hard I can’t walk?” His voice hitched. “So I can feel it for days after and can think about how your cock filled me up?”

The first time he’d gotten so graphic about Eddie fucking him, Eddie had come on the spot. He still got an undeniable stirring in his pants now. To keep that particular situation from progressing any further, he focused on his distinctly unsexy surroundings; the unbalanced table he sat at, the faint lemon scent from overnight mopping, the cow-like chewing sounds coming from the table next to him. 

Eddie swallowed hard around the last bite of stew before putting his tupperware away in his lunch bag. 

“That’s right,” Eddie said to Richie. “You’re so good at guessing.” 

“Fuck, Eddie,” he whined. “Fuck, please, please fuck me.”

He closed his eyes, imagining what Richie’s face must look like—and then stopped and stared at the assembly of crumbs on the tabletop that were just begging for roaches to come eat them.

Eddie cleared his throat and stood up. Richie was still panting in his ear.

“Oh, I will,” Eddie assured him. “Just like you said.” Conversationally, he added, “You’re coming, right?”

He released this long groan that answered the question for him. 

“Okay, well,” Eddie said awkwardly, “that’s my lunch break. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Eddie…” Richie trailed off, radiating desperation even after he’d come.

“I know,” he told him quietly, “I can’t wait either.”

After they hung up, Richie sent him a snap of himself in a mirror of a single person bathroom, hand covered in come, bottom lip puffy from biting it, brows raised. _Look what you made me do_ , was the caption.

Eddie sent back a 😘.

The weekend couldn’t come fast enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun writing Richie's texts, you have no idea. Hope you guys liked it too!  
> To clarify, they do switch in this fic, but for reasons I had Eddie go into already, he's starting off with topping. Don't @ me lol.  
> Anyway, the next three (3) chapters are of them together in the hotel, so get excited for that.  
> Please let me know how you're liking it!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos! I appreciate them so much, even though I can't respond to all of them!  
> Tags have been updated, so be aware, but it's nothing to be concerned about. It's mostly smooth sailing for them until they hit Derry.  
> Anyway, here's the first chapter of their hotel exploits!

Eddie’s overnight bag was maybe over-packed, if the way it dug into his shoulder on the walk into the lobby was any indication. But he’d always been over-prepared. His mom never let him join Boy Scouts—she was worried he’d get lost in the woods, or get poison ivy, or get touched by one of the scout leaders (ugh). But somehow he always had the spirit. 

He’d popped two pills on the cab ride over. For some reason he was trying to convince himself that getting his hopes up for this weekend was dangerous. Just like sending dick pics, he couldn’t conjure up a concrete reason for why eagerness was inherently a bad idea—besides a vague sense that anything he became too invested in would cause his ruin.

You know, normal thoughts any well-adjusted person would have.

When they were still trying to make their marriage work, he and Myra had seen a marriage counselor, who eventually suggested that Eddie ought to see a therapist all on his own, for non-marriage related issues stemming from his childhood and his mother’s influence on him. He’d recoiled at the thought, and Myra tore the counselor a new one, saying that there was nothing wrong with Eddie’s head, just his fragile disposition. 

But the longer Eddie thought about it, the more he became convinced it was the other way around. He still wasn’t seeing a therapist; he was kind of scared of what they might find rattling around his head.

Eddie shook off that line of thinking as he reached Richie’s hotel room door. 

Richie had arrived on a red eye with his entourage (he didn’t call the people who worked for him his entourage, but from Eddie’s understanding, that’s what they were), which should’ve given him enough time to shower and sleep off a bit of the jet lag.

If he hadn’t, that was fine. Eddie was determined to keep his expectations low. He was gonna be with Richie this weekend. It was all he could promise himself, yet that simple prospect still sent a wave of butterflies through him.

He knocked on the door. 

A second later Richie opened it, wearing casual jeans and a soft T-shirt. “Hey baby,” he greeted warmly, a grin spreading across his face smooth as honey.

Eddie ducked his head, all at once overwhelmed by what being in Richie’s presence did to his insides. 

“Hey,” Eddie said, stepping forward as Richie backed up to let him in.

In the space of a few seconds, Richie closed the door behind him, Eddie dropped his bag on the floor, and snaked his arms up Richie’s back to pull him in for a kiss. Richie crowded him up against the door as their lips met, bracketing his arms on either side of Eddie’s face so all he could see was Richie.

Eddie tilted his head back with a sigh. “I missed you.”

Richie sucked at his throat. “I missed your mouth.”

He snuck a hand up the front of his shirt. “How long do we have?”

“Twenty minutes before my first meeting.” He popped his brows over his glasses. “Think that’s enough time?”

“For you? Yeah.” 

Richie chuckled, kissing him again. Eddie could honestly probably do this for hours. It was that strange familiarity creeping up again, that was the only explanation for Eddie’s lack of hesitancy in demanding closeness. He wouldn’t just make out sessions peppered between Richie’s meetings, as long as when evening rolled around, Eddie got to do everything Richie had been begging him for. 

“Oh,” Richie said. “I have something for you.”

“Whuh?” 

Richie crossed the room to his suitcase. Eddie stayed against the door, already kiss drunk, and finally took in the room. It had a big TV again, and a little seating area to watch it. Maybe he could bend Richie over that chaise lounge.

Richie bounded back to him, a paper in hand. “Here!”

Eddie unfolded it with a confused frown. It looked like something medical, and then his eyes landed on a row of _Status: Negative_. 

Richie pointed at the date with a grin. “It’s from last week. All up to date.”

In all honesty, Eddie probably would’ve forgotten to ask for it again if Richie hadn’t offered it all on his own.

He retrieved his own STI test, which had been in his pocket since the gay bar, and handed it to him, even though Richie had never asked for it. “Here’s mine.”

Richie skimmed it with a nod. “This checks out. You’ve been diagnosed with hot bitch disease.”

Eddie laughed, feeling so light and happy he could barely breathe. Richie hooked an arm around his waist, and they let their papers fall to the floor. Eddie ran his hand over his chest, enjoying the solid warmth under his palm.

“We getting down to business?” Richie asked against his mouth.

Eddie nodded. “Just let me wash my hands.”

“So sexy,” Richie laughed as Eddie rushed over to the bathroom.

That’s when he saw the rain head shower. “Oh, shit, you got it!”

“Yeah, dude, you ask and I deliver!” he said as Eddie washed his hands. “You’ve got good taste; I’ve already used it.”

Eddie returned to him and pressed him up against the wall outside the bathroom, giving his shoulders a good squeeze. His damp hair curled at his neck. He inhaled the scent of him; soap and just a little cologne. Freshly showered. 

“I can tell.” He kissed him again.

“Is that what does it for you?” 

Eddie nodded, grinding against his crotch. “It really does, Rich.”

“Fuck.” He grabbed his ass to pull him closer. Their mouths met in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, dry humping until Eddie decided Richie was appropriately hard. 

“I’m gonna blow you,” he announced. Richie gave a jerky nod as Eddie dropped to his knees.

“Lemme get the condoms.” Richie put a hand on his shoulder to move around him.

“No, it’s fine. I wanna taste you,” Eddie said. Richie’s eyes widened. “I mean—if that’s okay with you.”

He fell back against the wall. “Hm, lemme think about that—”

He rolled his eyes, unbuttoning Richie’s jeans. He tugged them and his underwear down until his cock stood in front of his him. Eddie had just got a hand around the base when Richie’s pocket buzzed.

“Do you need to get that?” Eddie asked when it kept buzzing.

“Are you—no, it’s probably just Steve.” His manager. “This is more important.”

“If you’re sure.” Eddie leaned in, breathing in the shower-fresh musk of him. He might actually really enjoy this.

With no further consideration, he laved at the head with his tongue.

Richie weaved his fingers through Eddie’s hair and thunked his head against the wall. “So sure, Eds.”

Eddie had, obviously, never given a blowjob before. But he enjoyed the heft of Richie’s cock as he took him in his mouth, and the heat of him on his tongue. As his only frame of reference, he thought back to what Richie had done last time, and tried to repeat that. Except that Eddie didn’t particularly want spit and precum all over his own chin, so when it all started building up around his lips, he pulled off and licked up Richie’s shaft carefully, cleaning it up like—like a fucking melting popsicle. He hoped Richie didn’t notice.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to ask if he was doing okay, because Richie was groaning and sighing and blathering on about how hot Eddie was on his knees, how good he felt, how well Eddie was taking him. An endless stream of filthy encouragement that had Eddie rock hard and straining in his pants.

Richie cupped Eddie’s face as he sucked, rubbing his cheek against his dick with his thumb. “You enjoying yourself, Eds? You like sucking me off?”

Eddie almost came just from that.

Instead, there was a rapid knocking at the hotel room door. “Tozier!”

“Jesus, Steve, fuck off!” Richie yelled, his volume a stark contrast to the rough, low timbre of his voice while murmuring to Eddie. 

Eddie paused, his mouth still full of Richie’s cock. Richie nudged his head gently, a silent gesture to continue. Eddie’s bobbing picked up speed, trying to get him off faster. Richie’s fingers fisted his hair.

Through the door, Steve replied, _“You_ fuck off, I’m not letting you be late for every damn meeting today.”

“Gimme five minutes.” Richie’s reply was strangled. Good.

“No, five minutes ago was the phone call you ignored.”

Eddie jerked off the length he couldn’t take in his mouth with his hand.

“Two minutes!”

And Eddie really thought they were gonna get there.

But then the door lock beeped, and the handle clicked, and Eddie wasn’t sure he’d ever moved faster than when he ripped his mouth off Richie’s dick and lunged into the bathroom. He didn’t even get a chance to close the door behind him before the suite door swung open.

“Dude, what the fuck, I’m getting dressed!” Richie complained.

Eddie hid behind the bathroom door, chest heaving, dick throbbing, head spinning.

“How are you not even dressed yet?” Steve asked incredulously.

“Why do you have a key card to my room?” Richie demanded.

“Because of every time you lost one and said I should’ve anticipated your needs and had a spare. Now put something nice on—” 

“Get out of my stuff—”

They both fell silent.

Eddie peeked into the room through the crack of the door.

Steve stood in front of Richie’s open suitcase, a casual blazer in one hand and condoms and lube in the other. Steve’s gaze trailed to Eddie’s overnight bag, on the floor where he left it. “Do you have a girl in here?”

“No,” Richie said easily.

Steve shook his head. “You can have as much fun as you want this weekend, I just need you at these meetings on time. That’s all I ask! Wait—on time, and no cum stains. Think you can handle that?”

“How about one or the other?”

“Save the jokes for the meeting.” He held the blazer aloft, waiting for Richie to slide his arms into it. “Let’s go.”

“Gimme five—”

“No. Now. You’re already late.”

“You’re a bastard, you know that?”

“And you have poor time management skills.” He shook the blazer impatiently. “I’m not leaving.”

Eddie watched Richie slip a key card out of his wallet and smack it onto the dresser. 

“Fine.” He yanked the blazer from Steve and put it on himself. “You smarmy, stuck up asshole—”

Steve was already closing the door behind them.

Shit.

Eddie stayed frozen in place for another minute before he crept back into the room. He retrieved his toiletries bag and brushed his teeth, trying not to freak out.

He pulled out his phone, and already had a text from Richie. _UGH, sorry. This fucker doesn’t care about anybody’s blueballs_

Toothbrush hanging from his mouth, he replied, _He doesn’t know you’re gay?_

Richie: _I haven’t told him_

_But he’s not stupid. I dunno_

Eddie: _What would’ve happened if he caught us?_

Richie: _Said you were an ugly girl, probably_

Eddie: _Seriously_

Richie: _I mean it_

_The whole point of him is getting my ass /out/ of the fire, not putting me in it_

_And he’s turned a blind eye on worse shit_

Eddie: _What worse shit?_

Richie: _This meeting’s starting_

Eddie grumbled and spat his toothpaste in the sink. Not really how he wanted to kick off this weekend. A fading erection and a near-heart attack worrying about getting hatecrimed.

After sending one last carefully-composed text, _Remove that key card from his person,_ he slipped his pill bottle of his pocket.

He was pouring some into his palm by instinct before he remembered he’d taken two barely an hour ago.

He tried to calm down. Richie wasn’t worried about anything except blue balls.

Richie never seemed to worry about anything, though.

Eddie tossed the pills back into the bottle and left it on the counter. He needed some air.

He grabbed the key card Richie had left for him and took a walk around the neighbourhood. 

He listened to a podcast to drown out the irritating thoughts bouncing around his head—his mother’s voice, warning him of all the diseases he could get from touching men like he wanted. His ex-wife threatening that he’d never find anyone to take care of him like she did. And his own grown-up sense of self telling him that he didn’t get to have a raunchy weekend getaway like he was a college co-ed. He was never going to be carefree, and how foolish he was to think this was his chance.

It was noon by the time he returned to the hotel, which Eddie decided was an appropriate time to order a mimosa from the hotel bar. He wasn’t supposed to mix his pills with alcohol, but in an effort to stop overthinking, he was going to anyway.

He played around on his phone for a bit, waiting for an update from Richie and trying to convince himself not to be miserable. His self-convincing only really worked one way though, and it was never in his favour.

Something moved at the corner of his eye, and the seat next to him at the bar got taken. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Eddie looked up from his phone at the only person he’d be happy seeing sitting next to him. “How was the meeting?”

Richie shrugged. “Those things are always circle jerks, and not the fun kind. You want another drink, or you wanna go back to the room?”

“You get that key card?”

He held up two key cards, one his, one taken from Steve. “You don’t have to worry about a thing when you’re with me, Eds.”

And he almost believed him.

Back in Richie’s suite, they went to work picking up where they’d left off. Richie put the deadbolt on the door, but half of Eddie’s mind was still on someone walking in on them while they made out. He hated that he couldn’t just brush it off like Richie, like the interruption was an irritating blip in their schedule and not a near-miss of a disaster.

Richie pulled back, brow creased. “Dude.”

Eddie blinked at him from atop his lap. “Yeah?”

“Where’s your head at?”

“What—” His face scrunched. “Can you taste when I’m worrying?”

“So you _are_ worrying?”

He huffed. “No.”

“Tell me. What do I gotta do to have you kiss me like you mean it?”

Eddie closed his eyes. If he could just shut off his brain for _once._

This morning he didn’t even have a fear of getting caught! They were in a locked hotel room, it was irrational to worry about it—except it wasn’t, apparently, because Richie’s manager had almost caught him giving his first blow job. 

And Richie said Steve wouldn’t have done anything, but what if he misjudged him? Or what if someone else less invested in Richie’s career walked in?

And what if it was fine? Because the world was so different from the one he’d grown up in.

“Where’d you grow up?” Eddie asked. 

“LA.”

Maybe that was it. Big city like that, fewer small minds to fuck up his fragile childhood psyche.

“Well I’m from a shitty small town,” Eddie said. “I can’t remember much except for how scared I was there. My mom was always convincing me I had some deadly disease, but I think the only chronic illness I had was fear.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before he wanted to shove them back in; the point of this weekend was _not_ for him to spill all his weird personal baggage.

“Sorry,” Eddie rushed out, “we’re supposed to be making out—”

“We’re supposed to be doing whatever we want,” Richie cut in. He shifted until Eddie slid off him, so they were both sitting separately to talk to each other.

Eddie _wanted_ to be making out, but he couldn’t concentrate. What a stupid fucking problem.

Richie nodded at him to continue, so reluctantly, Eddie said, “I just—if two guys so much as held hands where I’m from, they would’ve gotten their teeth kicked in. Or worse.”

He nodded, looking down at the bedspread before meeting Eddie’s eyes again. “I get it. I mean, I always say I’m from LA, but I was born and raised in some backwater town on the east coast that… made me hate myself for stuff I couldn’t even admit until like two years ago.”

“Oh,” he said softly.

“I’m still not out to anyone except, like, my sister and any of the dudes I’ve slept with.”

Eddie swallowed hard. He offered a joke. “So just, like, a few dozen guys?”

Richie nodded along, amusement playing on his lips. “Yeah, a few football teams’ worth, nothing to write home about.” He took his hand. “But really, I’m sorry Steve busted in like that. It won’t happen again.”

“Yeah, I believe you,” he tried to brush him off. “I’ll be fine, really. Like I said, I barely remember all that.”

As if that meant it didn’t affect him.

Richie nodded. “Me neither, honestly. Sometimes I think my mind erased my childhood to save me from ending up a total nutcase.”

Whenever Eddie brought it up with anyone else, they thought he was exaggerating not being able to remember almost anything—not friends’ faces, not old teachers’ names, not the memory of learning how to ride a bike. People either thought it was weird or just didn’t believe that his childhood… got _erased_ , just like Richie said.

Eddie showed off his forearm. “I broke my arm once—I know because of this scar and because my mom always used it as a reason to keep me in the house, but I have no fucking idea how I did it. It’s something you should remember, right? But I don’t.”

Richie trailed a finger along the jagged scar and looked up at him from under his bangs. “You never did coke, did you?”

“What? No!” 

Richie always managed to throw him off.

“Okay, because my other guess about why I can’t remember anything is drugs and alcohol.”

“You’ve done coke?” Eddie asked incredulously.

“Dude, I was a closeted twenty-something struggling stand up comedian in 90s LA, how the fuck would I have _not_ done coke?”

He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t really argue with that logic. “Do you have any idea how bad that is for you?”

Richie barked a laugh. “Yeah, my doctor says at my age it could cause ‘serious cardiovascular distress’ and put me at a higher risk of—”

“Heart attack and stroke,” Eddie finished for him, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, so I stick to weed now, like a grandma with glaucoma.”

“What a hardship.”

He tapped his chin, giving him a contemplative look. “You know, you might benefit from some weed.”

“My drugs are all prescription, thanks.”

“Like what?”

“Valium, Xanax, Ativan—” Eddie rattled off. He sat back against the pillows; speaking of his pills, the side effects of mixing them with alcohol were finally manifesting. He hid a yawn behind his hand.

“Makes sense.”

He continued, “Prozac, Benazepril, Lipitor, Ritalin—”

Richie’s brows slowly rose to his hairline. “So a _pharmacy._ You’ve been prescribed a pharmacy. Are you that fucked up?”

Eddie narrowed his eyes at him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Richie rushed out, hands spread in apology. “I just meant—I mean, do you actually _need_ all that?”

Eddie shrugged. He wasn’t all that offended, just incredulous at Richie’s never-ending bluntness. He supposed he should get over that.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly.

“Do you take all of it?” Richie asked

His medicine cabinet was stocked with dozens of pill bottles he’d been prescribed over the years, like a nest egg of drugs, just in case. Myra hadn’t liked all of his diagnoses, and frankly neither had he, but he’d always tried the new pills, at least until the side-effects made him stop. He saw it all as necessary steps on the never-ending quest to figure out what, exactly, the fuck was wrong with him.

Eddie replied, “When I feel like I need to.”

“Then you might as well just smoke weed.”

“I don’t think it would mix well with my medication.”

Richie laughed, and it made Eddie feel a little less vulnerable about exposing himself like this.

Eddie slouched further into the pillows, struggling to keep his eyes open.

Richie’s hand landed on his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Alcohol also doesn’t mix well with the pills I definitely took today. That was dumb of me.”

“Would a nap help?”

“What? I’m not wasting my time with you napping.”

“I gotta head out in fifteen minutes anyway. C’mon, I’ll lay down with you before I go.” Richie dug under the covers and opened his arms. He looked way too comfy for Eddie to think of resisting. 

He crawled under the blankets and rested his head on his chest. “Okay, but when you get back, I’m blowing you, and you’re coming, and nothing’s gonna stop that.”

“Oh, you’ll hear no arguments from me.” He rubbed the length of Eddie’s back in sure, even strokes, relaxing him in a way that chamomile and ambient noise never did.

Eddie’s eyes fluttered shut. “Seriously, wake me as soon as you get back. If you don’t I’ll be mad.”

“I’ll wake you up with my dick in your mouth.”

“Don’t do _that_. I’ll bite it off.”

“Ooh, kinky, Eds.”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” he mumbled as he drifted to sleep.

The sharp scent of coffee drew him out of his slumber some time later. He flipped over, sticking a hand out blindly. 

Richie’s soft laughter sent a shiver through him. A coffee cup was set into Eddie’s hand before he even opened his eyes. 

Eddie sat up, blinking blearily at Richie, who sucked obnoxiously at a frappucino through a straw. 

“Feeling better, baby?” 

The way ‘baby’ fell off his tongue so easily, so indulgently, hit Eddie deep in his bones. Like the word was imprinted upon his skin each time, pressing a kiss to the very heart of him. Richie couldn’t possibly intend for it to mean that much, but Eddie couldn’t stop himself from enjoying it.

“Yeah.” Eddie didn’t say anything of the kind in return. Myra had twisted him into using pet names that never felt natural in his mouth, and they still didn’t taste normal when he thought about using them on Richie. “Thanks for the coffee.”

He sat up to take a sip of the bitter drink and grimaced. 

“You take it black, right?” Richie checked.

“Yeah.”

“Is it shit?”

“It’s always shit. But black coffee is healthier for you.”

Richie rolled his eyes, sucking even more obnoxiously on his straw. “Can’t relate.”

Instead of wondering how much sugar he was ingesting, Eddie said, “What time is it?”

“Three. We’ve got an hour.”

Eddie chugged half his coffee in one gulp. He wasn’t wasting any more time. He shrugged off the duvet and patted his lap. “Let’s do this.”

Richie’s face lit up. “Don’t mind if I do!” He shucked off his jeans and awkwardly straddled Eddie’s lap, using the headboard to help steady him. “Shit, how do you sit like this all the time?”

Eddie squeezed Richie’s soft hip with his free hand, grinning at the feel of it in under his palm. “When was the last time you stretched?”

“Stretched? For what reason?”

“Well, that’s your problem.” He took another sip of coffee before setting it on the bedside table with Richie’s melting drink. “You should get into some weekly exercise—it increases your range of motion, helps with stress relief, prevents back pain..”

Richie nodded attentively until Eddie realized he was talking bullshit when they could be kissing.

“You can shut me up, you know,” Eddie said, hands creeping under Richie’s shirt.

“No, I like listening to you talk.” Richie kissed him. “So educational.”

“Shut up.”

Lips already on his, he said, “Make me.”

Eddie pulled Richie in close and led their lips in a soft slide, growing more heated as they continued. 

Richie kept shifting on his lap, possibly due to his boner situation, possibly because he was getting uncomfortable with his legs bent under him like that. As much as Eddie liked the weight of him in his lap, that wasn’t where he needed Richie anyway. So he got him on his back, stripped his own shirt off and got rid of all Richie’s clothes. Back where they left off. Eddie didn’t let himself turn to check the door. 

Instead, he settled between Richie’s legs and ducked down to take the tip of Richie’s cock into his mouth again. It was saltier than before, half a day’s sweat built up within his underwear. 

And it was still good. Eddie didn’t have any complaints. And yet—

Richie barked a laugh. “You like it better right out of the shower, don’t you?”

His face heated. “No, it’s fine—”

“It’s _fine_ _,”_ he repeated, still laughing like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. 

Eddie supposed he should appreciate that Richie didn’t get offended at Eddie’s incorrect reactions—and he did appreciate it. But it also pissed him off.

“Shut up, it’s good, I just—fuck, do you know how many germs build up in underwear?”

“You know I don’t.” He reached into a bedside drawer and pulled out a foil wrapper. “You want a condom?”

Eddie’s mouth pulled to the side, looking at Richie’s dick contemplatively. It wasn’t that the taste was bad, or even the muskier smell, it was the statistics and numbers racing through his head—

Richie was already rolling the condom on. “There ya go—uh, if you even still wanna. Presumptuous of me, I guess.”

Eddie stretched up to kiss him before dragging his mouth down his chest. “You’re never gonna be presumptuous assuming I wanna do things to you, Richie.”

He sunk his mouth over Richie, the slightly sterile taste of the condom annoyingly comforting. 

It felt like a failure to be using a condom, like his stupid insecurities had won, but then Richie cupped the back of his head and started talking. “Fuck, your mouth feels good, Eddie. Couldn’t stop thinking about getting you back on my dick while I was gone.”

Eddie groaned. He still sometimes got embarrassed talking like that, but he was fucking obsessed with hearing it from Richie. So he allowed his words to wash over him, get him hot and hard and bobbing his head faster over Richie’s cock.

His shoulder brushed Richie’s thigh as he moved, and the reminder of how close he was to all of him was intoxicating. He closed his eyes, narrowing his world down to just Richie; the way he filled up his mouth, his fingers tightening in his hair, his voice getting more strained as he grew closer to falling apart.

“Shit, you look so hot with those lips wrapped around me, baby. A fucking crime you haven’t been doing this your whole life.”

Eddie moaned in agreement, moving his head further down to take more of Richie into his mouth, feeling the tip nudge his soft palette. Getting as much of him as he could to make up for years of living without getting to do this.

Richie said Eddie’s name a few more times, and then he swore, back arching as he spilled into the condom. Eddie sucked on the head until Richie tugged him off, and then Eddie peppered kisses over his inner thighs, not moving from the comfort of Richie’s thighs.

“C’mere,” Richie said after a minute, and Eddie cleaned him up before returning to his embrace. Richie palmed him over his pants and squeezed. Eddie gasped into his mouth and pressed eagerly into the long-awaited friction his hand provided. “Your turn, baby.”

“God, please.” 

Eddie tugged off his pants and underwear as Richie rolled off the mattress to kneel on the floor again, tugging Eddie to join him.

“I got a crick in my neck giving head lying down one time,” he explained in response to Eddie’s bemused look. 

“Aw, poor baby,” Eddie teased, massaging the back of his neck all the same. “You want a pillow for your knees, too?”

Richie hummed, leaning his forehead against Eddie’s knee. “Well now that you mention it—”

Eddie laughed and handed him a pillow. Once Richie got comfortable, he moved up Eddie’s thigh, laying hot open-mouthed kisses until he reached his hip. His breath washed over Eddie’s erection.

Richie looked up at him from under his lashes, with his stubbled cheek laid against his thigh. “Can I suck you off without a condom?” 

Eddie’s gaze stuck on his mouth. “If you want. _I_ want you to,” he clarified when Richie opened his mouth again.

Richie handed him his glasses and then pressed in just that much closer to lay his lips on Eddie’s bare shaft. Richie dragged his bottom lip up to the head, where he sucked the precum into his mouth with a little hum. Eddie’s breath stuttered out.

“Mm, you taste good, baby.”

Eddie groaned openly, already unravelling. He slipped his fingers through Richie’s hair as Richie lowered his head, greedily taking him in. 

“Fuck, I missed this,” Eddie told him. “Just so fucking good at sucking my cock, aren’t you, Richie?”

Richie slurped him down with a moan. Eddie couldn’t wait to say the same shit later tonight when Richie’s mouth would be free to respond. But for now, he enjoyed the exquisite suction of Richie’s mouth on him, his hands on his thighs, the determined bobbing of his head. 

Murmured encouragement fell easily from Eddie’s lips, because it felt so _good_ _,_ and Richie looked so _hot_ _._ It was just like last time; indescribably good, and such a fucking mess. Saliva and precum shone on his lips and pooled on his chin. 

Eddie shifted, straining to keep from bucking into his throat. 

“Shit,” he hissed. “You’re getting it everywhere.”

Richie looked up at him with dark eyes and a smirk. He pulled off with an obscene pop and kept stroking him with his hand. “Yeah, that’s the point. Didn’t I tell you that already?”

His offer of _'Let you come on my face if you wanted'_ resurfaced, making Eddie’s twitch in his palm.

“It made you come on the phone,” Richie reminded him.

“You’ve got meetings,” Eddie tried not to whine. “You’re still going out.”

“Yeah, so I could smell you on me the rest of the day.”

Eddie keened. He pushed Richie’s head back toward his dick.

Richie laughed and licked a long stripe up his shaft, followed by another and another, tongue curled around him—like a popsicle too, but with no regard for keeping tidy. His cheekss and nose shone with the same mixture that his lips and chin did, and he only got sloppier the more he licked. 

“Come on, Eddie.” He tongued at the head, getting to the precum right at the source. His big hand stroked the rest of him fast and sure. 

Eddie’s eyes rolled back in his head. His breathing grew heavy.

“Wanna taste you.” Richie’s voice was rough. “Don’t you wanna come all over me, baby?”

And that sent Eddie over the edge. He spurted across Richie’s mouth, open from laughing. Cum streaked across his tongue, his nose, his cheeks. 

Richie lapped up whatever he’d missed from his dick, saying shit like ‘yum’ and ‘tasty!’ as cleaned him off. 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Eddie huffed, nails digging into his shoulder, unable to decide whether to shove him away or keep him close.

“That’s not very nice. I just took a face full of cum for you.”

“Don’t act like it’s a bullet, you were practically begging for it.”

“Oh, I can beg better than that.”

Eddie wiped across Richie’s face, trying to clean him off before it dried, but Richie turned his head and sucked Eddie’s cum-covered fingers into his mouth.

“God, you’re so—” and he meant to say gross, but it wasn’t, somehow, so he said “—fucking hot.”

Richie popped his brows, cheeks hollowing around Eddie’s fingers. He released them with a pop. “Glad you think so, baby.”

Wondrously, like he was in a trance, Eddie swiped more of his cum off of Richie’s cheek. Richie’s opened his mouth to take them in again, but a phone alarm interrupted them.

Richie just licked it off with an eye roll, grabbing his pants to turn the alarm off. “Five minutes until I gotta go. Kiss me goodbye?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” He sat up, swaying in close like a cobra.

Eddie grabbed his chin. “Wash your fucking face.”

“You don’t wanna lick it off me?”

“You keep wanting to do things that’ll make you late for your meeting.” He nudged him back and stood. “Come on, you’re washing your face. With soap.”

He guided him into the washroom, but not before Richie kissed his shoulder, getting cum on Eddie too.

Eddie complained, but he was laughing, and he wiped himself off wherever there was stray cum while Richie washed his face in the sink. 

Eddie grabbed a towel when he was done and patted him down lightly. “There. Semi-presentable.”

“Kiss me now?” Richie smiled.

“You still haven’t brushed your teeth,” Eddie murmured, but pressed a closed-mouth kiss to his swollen lips anyway.

Richie’s phone rang from the bedroom and he ran back to his pants to answer it. He shoved his glasses on, saying, “Yeah, I’m leaving my room now, Steve.” He tucked his phone between his shoulder and his ear and tugged his jeans back on. “I’m literally on my way out the door.”

As Richie continued to dress himself, Eddie followed him out with a brush; Richie’s hair spoke its truth—that he’d just fucked. 

“I’m in the elevator,” Richie was saying, ducking his head when Eddie walked up to him. 

Eddie could hear Steve’s tinny voice through Richie’s phone as he brushed Richie’s hair back into its normal mess. Richie winked at him and spun for the door. 

Eddie yanked him back to kiss him on the cheek. Richie turned his head and slipped him the tongue, which tasted distinctly dick-like. 

“Brush your teeth!” Eddie hissed as Richie made a dash for the door.

Richie waved at Eddie over his shoulder, ducking into the hall. “I’m in the lobby, Steve! Where the hell are ya?”

Eddie took a breath once he was left alone in the room. There was no reason for the butterflies swarming his stomach at that show of compatibility, domesticity, as Richie left. Eddie had had domesticity, and he’d hated it.

But maybe he just hated Myra, because he hated living alone, too.

He shot Richie a text, _At least chew some gum, for the love of god_

Richie’s response was immediate. _Nah I wanna taste you ;)_

Eddie shuddered hotly and flung his phone onto the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, a lesbian who's never been involved in a bj: yes, I think I'll describe as many blow jobs as possible, that makes sense 🙄
> 
> ((Unrelated, but I may have some ideas swirling for a sugar baby app au with Eddie as a well-off, middle-aged, divorcee who doesn't wanna be called daddy and Richie as a 25 year old struggling comedian whose first dick pic he sends to Eddie involves googly eyes??? Just gauging interest here, would anyone read that?))
> 
> Anyway, hope you liked this chapter!! Lemme know what you thought!! And gear up for the next one!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Another chapter so soon? Yes! I accidentally woke up so early today and I suddenly have so much free time. I looove this chapter guys, lmao, the praise kink and dirty talk are here in full force.  
> Also there is a joke about daddy kink in this chap, but this fic doesn't go there, just as a heads up.  
> Please enjoy!!

Once Eddie had finished tidying up the room and himself, he decided to use his hour of free time at the gym.

He waited for the elevator as two young women left another room on the floor. They were both on their phones, as was he, but they were talking to each other as they texted.

“He blew up at him, I can’t believe you missed it,” said a tanned woman with an undercut and bright pink hair. 

“I mean, do you blame him?” The other woman had blunt bangs and thick black glasses, similar in style to Richie’s but clearly a more modern style. “Where does Steve get off strolling into his fucking hotel room like that?”

Eddie narrowed his focus back to his phone as the elevator door pinged open and they stepped through.

“Not like you can get him to do anything any other way,” pink undercut replied as she pressed the lobby button.

Eddie chose basement, where the gym was. They both were doing an incredible job of acting as though he didn’t exist. Young people were so good at that—he wished he was, too, but he couldn’t stop listening.

“And it was like a full-on diva meltdown,” pink undercut continued, popping her gum. “But not right after Steve interrupted him, it was when he showed up for his 4 o’clock.”

“Oh,” glasses said knowingly. “So he tore Steve a new one because whatever girl he’s got up there blew up at him when he got back?”

“Blew  _ something _ ,” undercut retorted, and they both laughed.

The elevator reached the lobby as glasses said, “Well, I guess Steve won’t be walking into his room like he owns the place again, will he?” 

“No, upon threat of emasculation.”

“Jesus, this chick must be a good lay,” was the last of their conversation Eddie caught before the elevator doors closed. 

He shot off a text to Richie,  _ Did you have a diva meltdown over Steve almost catching us? _

Eddie had reached the gym and was debating which exercise machine he wanted to start with when he got the response,  _ That can’t possibly be on Twitter??? _

Eddie:  _ No. Some women were talking about it in the elevator. Interns or assistants or something maybe? _

Richie:  _ Pink undercut and hipster glasses? _

Eddie:  _ Yeah. They didn’t say your name, though. I just picked up it was you from context _

Richie: 🙄  _ First off, it wasn’t a diva meltdown. Kiki’s just dramatic. Also I don’t usually get that mad when Steve pulls stupid shit, so none of them are used to it _

Eddie:  _ Did you get mad at him because of what we talked about? _

Ellipses popped up and off for a minute as Richie decided on a response. 

As Eddie dropped his gym bag next to a treadmill and waited for a reply, he told himself that the reasoning didn’t really matter. Whether Richie went off because he was tired of not getting his dick sucked or because he wanted Eddie to feel comfortable. Whatever they were doing didn’t involve feelings; he shouldn’t think about any of this too deeply.

Just as he was gonna tell him to forget it, he got a response.

Richie:  _ After talking to you, I felt like what I said to Steve the first time wasn’t enough, and he might try to pull it again for a laugh. So I let him know, in no uncertain terms, that if he came into my hotel room again without permission he’d be out of a job _

_ That’s all _

Which was on the more feelings-ier end of things, so Eddie made a joke instead of acknowledging it.

Eddie:  _ I heard he’d be out of testicles _

Richie: _ Testicles may have been mentioned _

_ It was NOT a diva meltdown tho. I only do those when I’m drunk. And it’s usually about Taco Bell not having the order I want _

Eddie:  _ You eat at Taco Bell? Gross _

Richie:  _ That all okay, tho? _

Eddie:  _ Yeah. Lemme know when you’re done. I’ll be at the gym _

Richie replied with a 👅; he went wild for Eddie’s gym selfies. Richie called himself thirsty, but Eddie didn’t because they were both grown men and Eddie was paranoid about using youth slang incorrectly. He just didn’t trust anything after discovering what Netflix and chill meant.

Eddie shot off a quick pic of him getting on the treadmill and then focused on his workout.

While half-listening to a podcast about medical history, Eddie went through the rest of their day in his head. After Richie returned, they only had half an hour before his dinner meeting, but then they had the night to themselves.

Eddie had been doing legitimate research on the logistics of anal sex, and also less legitimate research on what would be the hottest way to do things. A little bit of porn, but mostly erotic novels because they provided him more details. 

He had a rough plan; since they only had the weekend together, he wanted to make the most of their time. He wasn’t neurotically scheduling their sexual escapades or anything, he just wanted to make it good. 

Unfortunately, thinking about it was getting him a little hard in his shorts.

So he switched machines, actually tuned into the podcast, and focused on his work out until he heard a whistle from behind him. He ignored it, until there was a louder, much closer whistle.

Eddie turned, annoyed, but then smiled when he found Richie leering at him. He plucked out his earbuds. “Oh, it’s you.”

“You thought somebody else was whistling at you?”

He looked around; the few other people who’d been here when he’d arrived had left.

Eddie was drumming up a response when he noticed Richie’s eyes set firmly on his ass. “Lemme finish?” he asked.

Richie spread his hands. “Far from me to impede art in motion.”

He laughed and continued on the elliptical, lunging as far as he could while Richie made various turned-on noises behind him.

Eddie only went on for a minute more, enough to get Richie shifting conspicuously in his pants. Then he hopped off with a grin, bending over to grab his gym bag off the floor. 

Richie’s gaze was devouring him as they headed to the elevators. “You know we only got like half an hour?”

He shrugged. “Not like it’ll be hard for me to get you off again, but do you think you can get it up a third time for tonight?”

“I could try.”

Eddie leaned in close. “I don’t think I wanna risk it.”

Richie grabbed his ass in the elevator before Eddie shoved him away with a giggle.

They got back to their room quick, and Richie immediately peeled off Eddie’s sticky gym shirt. Richie started licking sweat off of Eddie’s chest in long stripes, and Eddie let his head thump against the wall. His fingers slipped into Richie’s hair. Richie’s stubble scraped his skin, his hot mouth sucked his nipple. He keened, canting his hips into the air.

“There,” Richie murmured, not pausing in his ministrations. “Now we’re both gonna be annoyed when I have to leave.”

“So mature.” His grip in his hair tightened when Richie’s teeth grazed his nipple.

“God, I can’t wait for you to fuck me,” Richie said roughly.

Already too far gone to say anything sensible, Eddie replies, “Yeah? You gonna like taking my cock, Richie?”

Richie whined, moving up to kiss Eddie and thrusting his erection against Eddie’s hip. Eddie held him close, feeling his back muscles flex under his thin T-shirt.

“Have you done it before?” Eddie panted.

“Huh?”

“Bottomed?”

“Nuh uh.” He sucked the sweat off of Eddie’s neck.

“But you’ve wanted to?”

“From the second you talked about bending me over last time.” He whispered into his ear, “I’ve fingered myself thinking about you.”

“Fuck, Rich.” His voice cracked. He slid his hands down his sides to his ass and massaged it hard, pressing him forward so Richie’s crotch grinded better against his. 

Richie’s shoulders started shaking, and for a second Eddie thought he was coming, but then laughter dropped out of him. “Ooh, daddy—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Eddie smacked him on instinct, but due to his hand placement, it was right on Richie’s ass. “Shit, sorry—”

Richie groaned into his neck. “Eddie, I think I’m gonna come.”

“No you’re not,” he snapped, annoyed. He jerked Richie away by the collar, and the fucker was grinning like an asshole, eyes bright and pupils blown like he’d already been fucked. 

Eddie licked his lips.

Richie’s phone alarm went off. Five minutes until he needed to leave.

Richie turned it off before smirking at Eddie. “I can be late for this.”

“But can you come three times in a day?” Eddie retorted. He shook his head before Richie could answer. “I’m getting you a water.”

Richie sighed. Eddie could feel his gaze on his bare back as he fished a water bottle out of the minifridge. 

He strode back over and tapped the bottle against Richie’s chest. “You’re gonna have to change your shirt.”

Richie looked down to see a sweat-darkened outline of Eddie’s chest against his. “I don’t know, I think it could be a look.”

“A look that smells?”

He pulled up his shirt and gave it a good sniff. “Smells good to me.”

Eddie ruffled his hair before digging through his suitcase. “You’re too horny to function.”

“Now  _ that’s _ a T-shirt!” Richie said. “Fuck, it might be the name of my next comedy special.”

Eddie bit the inside of his cheek to hide his amusement.

“Hey!” Richie pointed at him. “If you think I’m funny, you have to laugh. I’m a comedian, Eddie, it helps me hone my craft.”

“It just gives you a bigger head.”

Richie opened his mouth, but Eddie stopped him. “Anything you say in response to that will  _ not _ be funny, I guarantee you.”

“Alright.” He nods, narrowing his eyes. “I’ll work on my dick jokes. Even though I think I’m already the top of my field for those.”

“You’ve topped before, right?” Eddie asked.

He laughed. “Not an innuendo I was going for, but yeah, I have.” He winked. “It’s hot, you’ll like it.”

Eddie didn’t try to hold back his smile.

Before Richie went off to his dinner meeting, he asked Eddie whether he’d want to order room service or if he wanted him to bring something back. Eddie said room service so he didn’t have to waste time eating when Richie returned. That made him leave with a big ass grin.

Eddie spent a few minutes debating whether he should shower, because he was gross, but he wanted to shower with Richie later and he didn’t want to dry out his skin too much. He decided he could handle the drying sweat for like half an hour, and just washed his face.

He was perusing the room service menu with the TV playing some random show in the background when Richie texted. 

Richie: _ Round one of drinks done. Appetizers should be coming shortly _

Eddie:  _ Thanks but I don’t need a minute by minute update. We’ve got all night, I’m not worried _

Richie:  _ Not worried? Did I cure you? Is my dick that good? _

Eddie:  _ Shut the fuck up _

_ I’m still worried about room service _

Richie:  _ In what way? _

Eddie appreciated the lack of clear sarcasm in the response.

Eddie:  _ I’m a random guy ordering room service from Richie Tozier’s hotel room? Isn’t that suspicious? _

Richie:  _ Just put on a pair of pants and one of your nice shirts. They’ll think you’re a PA or something _

_ If they even notice it’s my room at all. Will Ferrell’s stayed at this hotel before, I don’t know how much any random bellhop is gonna care about me _

Eddie:  _ I hate Will Ferrell _

Richie:  _ Exactly the point I was making, thanks _

_ You’re gonna order room service right??? _

Eddie:  _ Yeah _

Richie:  _ Good. And get a bottle of champagne on ice too  _ 🍾

Eddie:  _ THAT’S gonna be suspicious! _

Richie:  _ You know what would be suspicious? If I /didn’t/ have a bottle of alcohol sent to my room _

_ Don’t sweat it, baby. They won’t even blink, I promise _

Grudgingly mollified, Eddie ordered chicken piccata and veggies, along with the requested champagne. They asked him what kind, and he had no fucking clue. 

“How many kinds do you have?” Eddie asked.

“Five.” The guy on the other end listed them and none of them rang a bell except Don Perignon, but he knew that was stupidly expensive from Myra complaining about not getting it for their wedding. 

“The third most expensive,” Eddie said.

“Do you want gold flakes on the side?”

“Pardon?”

“You pour the gold flakes into the champagne so you’re drinking gold.”

“That—” He rubbed his forehead. “That’s a health hazard. No. One bottle of champagne, on ice, with two glasses. Thank you.”

“It’ll be up in twenty.”

Fuck, Richie might be back before Eddie was even done eating.

But he wasn’t. Eddie answered the door wearing something presentable, and the server barely looked at him, and just as Eddie was sitting down in front of the TV Richie texted,  _ Running long. Just like my  _ 🍆

Eddie rolled his eyes and replied,  _ No worries, I can start by myself _

Richie: 🥺

Eddie:  _ Lol I just got my food, you have time _

Richie:  _ Don’t tease me like that, I will straight up walk out of this meeting to sit on your dick _

Eddie:  _ I’ll keep that in mind _

He took a steadying breath before eating his dinner. He watched TV until he got that  _ be there soon!! _ text followed by a wide array of emojis.

Eddie stretched, sent,  _ You can join me in the shower _ , and then tossed his phone on the couch.

He stripped, letting the water run hot before stepping under the spray. He’d set up his own body wash already because he didn’t trust the little hotel soaps, no matter how fancy the hotel. He’d gotten a rash  _ once _ and he wasn’t risking it again.

Not that he was thinking about that right now. 

He was luxuriating under the rain water shower head, thinking about how Richie got it just for him. He squeezed soap into his hand and finally washed the sweat off him, despite how much Richie had liked it—he’d like him naked and soapy in the shower, too.

Eddie hadn’t been in the shower long when he heard, “Babe?” from the bedroom.

“You know where I am,” Eddie called.

He’d left the bathroom door open, so Richie only had to walk through the doorway to find him, grinning like he’d won the lottery. “Oh, Eddie. You’re too good to me.”

He shook his hips, blushing from over his shoulder. “You just gonna stare, or what?”

Richie ripped his shirt off, followed rapidly by the rest of his clothes. He hopped in with his glasses on, pushing them into his hair when they fogged up. His hands were all over Eddie the second he was under the water.

Eddie sighed in satisfaction. He leaned back against Richie’s slick chest, a hot thrill zinging up his spine at how tall Richie was against him. Richie’s hands splayed across his chest, his arms, his stomach. His growing erection slipped against his backside. 

“You miss me?” Richie licked a water droplet off the shell of his ear. 

His eyes slipped closed. “Uh huh.”

Richie’s hand moved lower on Eddie’s stomach, stopping right above where he needed him. “You gonna soap me up, too?”

“Eventually.” He covered Richie’s hand with his and guided him over his dick. Richie mouthed at his neck, moaning as their hands moved in tandem over Eddie. Eddie tightened his grip, and Richie’s big strong hand tightened too. He was already out of his fucking mind turned on.

“You really like showers, huh?” Richie breathed.

Eddie nodded. “Yes—okay.”

He tried to compose himself just a little. They had a mission tonight, and it wasn’t shower sex. Eddie slid Richie’s hand off him and turned to face him. He meant to get a handful of body wash for Richie, but then he saw his face and needed to kiss him. So they detoured into a makeout until Eddie got them back on track.

Of course, running his soapy hands all over Richie’s body wasn’t helping them get out of the shower any faster, especially when he was just straight-up fondling his ass, but Eddie managed to avoid his dick until the end.

Richie tugged him closer by the hips. “You not gonna wash Little Richie?”

“Your dick is  _ not _ named Little Richie,” Eddie replied flatly, giving him a few soapy tugs anyway.

Richie kissed him again, soft and hot, and Eddie had to blindly slap around for the tap to turn it off and get them out of the shower.

“Okay,” Eddie panted as they dripped onto the shower floor. “That’s done. Next.”

“Next!” Richie repeated eagerly. He dried them both off hastily with fluffy hotel towels.

“You got lube in here?” Eddie asked, tucking the towel around his waist.

“Uh...” Richie rustled through a bag on the counter that Eddie had made sure had lube in it while he’d been waiting. Richie plucked out lube and a plastic glove and grinned at him in the mirror. “Almost like someone planned this…”

Eddie plucked the supplies out of his hand and met his eyes in the mirror. “Perfect. Now bend over.”

He blushed down to his chest. “Here?”

“I want to spread you out here, so I can watch your face in the mirror.” Eddie grabbed his hip and pressed on his shoulder blade, until Richie ceded and gripped the bathroom counter. Eddie murmured in his ear. “And then I’ll fuck you into the mattress until you can’t walk.” Richie shuddered against his chest. “How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like you should get your fingers in me, Eddie,” he said.

“Just a second.” He fumbled to pull the glove on, and then drizzled lube onto his fingers. “Tell me if it’s okay. I’ve never done this before.”

Richie wiggled his hips, and then widened his stance, spreading for Eddie. “Neither have I.”

“You’ve fingered  _ yourself _ .”

“Did you want tips?” he asked incredulously.

Eddie splayed a palm across his lower back and circled his hole. Richie gasped. “No, I’ve done my research. Just—fuck nevermind, I know you’re gonna talk. You good?”

“You haven’t done anything yet.”

“Yeah, are you ready?”

“Yes, Eddie, do something— _ ah _ .” His breath hitched when Eddie pushed in up to his first knuckle. His broad shoulders heaved. “Yeah, yeah keep going.”

Eddie kissed the back of his neck before standing upright and pressing in further, tuned into every tremble and sigh of Richie’s as he moved. It was a tight heat, like his mouth but more suction. Eddie almost went lightheaded thinking about what it would feel like around his cock.

He checked on Richie’s face in the mirror when he went quiet, and he was looking right back at Eddie, mouth hanging open.

Eddie ran the heel of his palm up Richie’s spine. “You good?”

“Another.” Richie pressed back into him.

Eddie took a second to add more lube, before slowly sliding his fingers back in.

“Oh yeah, oh—“ Richie dropped his head.

“Hey.” Eddie squeezed the back of his neck and Richie whined. “I wanna see you.”

Richie looked back up and met his eye. “Wanna see what you’re doing to me?”

Eddie started moving his fingers faster, still carefully, but Richie’s eyes rolled back in his head. “That’s right. Want you to see it, too. How good you’re being for me.”

Richie’s keened, jerking back into Eddie’s fingers. “Shit, baby, you gotta keep that shit for later, or you’re gonna have me coming over the cabinets.”

Eddie exhaled heavily. Knowing he had this much power over the man shoving his hips onto his fingers made his cock twitch. 

“Okay,” he breathed, twisting his fingers in Richie to open him up more. “I’ve got you.”

The water from the shower had been replaced by a slick sweat across Richie’s back, a sheen over his clenching muscles. Eddie’s hips bucked, wanting to grab his shoulder and fuck into him right now.

“Fuck, Eddie, I want more,” Richie panted, which was added to the list of hottest things Eddie had ever experienced.

Eddie worked in a third finger and slowed again to let him adjust.

“Shit, I want your cock.” His lower lip was swollen from his teeth digging into it.

“I know, I know, Richie,” Eddie said, breath caught in his throat. He paused. “Tell me anyway.”

Hooded eyes met his in the mirror. “I want you to fucking rail me.” His voice was strained. “I want you to fill me up until all I can feel is your cock inside me. And I wanna make it so fucking good for you, Eddie.”

Eddie’s hand slipped, fingers reaching a new spot, causing Richie to yelp and slap the counter in short succession.

“Shit, are you—”

“Eddie, now, you gotta get in me  _ right _ now—”

“Fuck.” Eddie kissed his sweat-slicked shoulder blade and gently removed his fingers. Voice gravelly, he said, “Get on the bed.”

Richie shakily straightened and left the room. Eddie took off the glove and washed his hands, drying them on the towel he had around his hips and then leaving it in the bathroom.

He was right behind Richie as he climbed on the bed. It gave him a good view of Richie’s shining asshole, loosened from Eddie’s fingers. Ready for his cock. Eddie swallowed. 

“How do you want me?” Richie asked.

“On your back for now,” Eddie said. “I’ll have you ass down face up soon enough.”

Richie flopped onto the pillows, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Eddie grinned back. He climbed onto the bed with him, kneeling between his legs. 

“Do you need a pillow?” Eddie asked. “For your back?”

“What?” he huffed.

“I want you to be comfortable.”

Richie tossed a pillow at Eddie, saying, “Sure, sure. What are you, a chiropractor?”

“Shut up.” Eddie tucked the pillow under his lower back, and then yanked him closer, so Richie’s ass was right up against him.

“Oh shit,” Richie breathed, back flat on the mattress.

Eddie smoothed over the inside of his thighs, fingers brushing over the soft hair there. He was trembling under his palms. 

“You good?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah, baby,” Richie said, and the gravelliness went straight to Eddie’s dick.

He slipped a condom on, covered his dick in lube, and then lined himself up at Richie’s entrance. Eddie didn’t have to ask if Richie was ready again—he was spread out for him like a gift; head bent back, legs spread wide, chest heaving in anticipation.

Eddie eased in slow, watching Richie’s face twist with exquisite pleasure. Once he was all the way in, he adjusted his grip on Richie’s thigh and laid his other hand on Richie’s soft stomach. Richie’s brows were drawn together, swollen lips parted in a silent moan. 

“Rich?”

He nodded, opening his eyes to meet Eddie’s. “’S good. You feel so good. I’m… fuck, I’m so full.”

Eddie’s hips twitched at his words, and they both moaned. Eddie nodded, sweat dripping from his brow. Richie rocked towards him in encouragement.

Eddie moved his hips slow to allow them to get used to the sensation. He placed his hands on the mattress for better maneuverability, which brought him closer to Richie’s face. He was smiling stupidly, so Eddie dropped a soft kiss as he grinded into him. 

One of Richie’s hands landed on his back, smoothing up his spine until he cupped the back of his neck. His breath came out in hot little moans at Eddie’s ear. Eddie kissed Richie’s shoulder, and his neck, and his cheek. Then Richie turned his head and their lips met sloppily. Eddie hummed into it. 

Richie rolled his hips to meet Eddie’s thrusts, and he took that as an invitation to pick up speed.

“Wait, shit,” Richie said suddenly, just as they were getting faster.

Eddie jerked back from his mouth. “What?”

“I forgot to put my sex playlist on.”

Eddie sighed heavily, sitting back on his heels. “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“Um, I mean, nevermind,” Richie backpedalled. “Obviously we don’t need it.”

He shook his head and slowly pulled out. Was it just to make a point? Yeah. Did he immediately miss the tight grip of Richie’s ass around his dick? Also yeah. 

“No, by all means,” Eddie panted. “Now seems like a good time to pause.”

Richie whined, but he still got up to find his phone, pair it with his wireless speaker, and queue up a song. It was  _ Hungry Like the Wolf _ again.

He returned to Eddie a little chagrined, but he perked up and offered, “Face down ass up?”

And Eddie wasn’t even a little annoyed anymore. “Yeah.” He patted the bed. “Get over here.”

Richie eagerly clambered onto the mattress and tucked his arms under his chest and arched his back, showing off his ass.

“Like that?” Richie asked cheekily, throwing him a look over his shoulder.

Eddie took a moment to breathe, circling a hand at the small of Richie’s back. He was so turned on he could barely speak. He nudged Richie legs apart just a little bit so he had room to kneel, and then got close enough to slip his wet dick against his ass cheeks.

“Oh that’s perfect, Richie,” Eddie said, and he felt the shiver that ran up Richie’s spine. He cupped his ass, lining himself up again. “Are you gonna be good for me?”

“Yeah, yeah, baby, I’ll be good.” Richie’s breath heaved. “I’ll be so good, I promise.”

And the thing was, Eddie believed anything Richie promised. He pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade and sunk back into Richie, whose moan vibrated against his chest.

Eddie hummed in his ear. “Oh, I know. Tell me something, can I go fast?”

He nodded frantically.

“Tell me.”

“Yes,” fell from his lips. “Fuck me fast. And hard. I wanna feel it—”

He didn’t need to say any more.

Eddie reared back until he was almost out and then slammed back into him.

“God! Yes, Eddie, just like that,” Richie cried.

And fuck if Eddie wasn’t going to give him exactly what he wanted. Richie had spewed enough dirty talk over the past month that Eddie knew just how he liked it. 

Eddie grabbed his hips and thrust in fast and rough, hard enough to probably hurt his back, but he wasn’t worried about that right now. He wasn’t thinking about anything except the sounds Richie couldn’t stop making. 

“Oh my god,  _ oh _ —” His breath hitched when Eddie’s hips rocked against his ass again and again. “Yes, yes, yes, Eddie, you feel— _ ugh _ .”

“Yeah?” Eddie grunted. “You feel fucking amazing on my cock, Richie.”

He pressed his forehead into the mattress, moaning curses and Eddie’s name and ‘ _ good _ ’s under his breath in a way that made Eddie’s chest sing. Shit, he looked so fucking hot. Eddie couldn’t believe he was allowed to do this. 

When his thighs started to burn he slowed into a more teasing pace. He grabbed a handful of Richie’s ass, moving his hand away before softly cupping Richie’s ass again.

Richie wiggled into his palm, nodded enthusiastically at Eddie’s wordless question.

Eddie pulled his hand back and slapped Richie’s ass.

_ “Fuuuuck,”  _ Richie moaned, voice cracking.

“You like that?” Eddie was sweating all over, but somehow the blush he got from saying that heated his cheeks hotter than anything.

“Uh huh.”

He did it again, and Eddie’s eyes rolled back in his head at the way Richie’s ass clenched around his dick. He spanked him one more time before he took hold of his hips and started fucking into him in earnest again.

“Shit, Eddie,” Richie gasped, hands fisting the sheets.

Eddie ran the heel of his palm up his back, resting his spread hand between his shoulder blades. He looked down at the man below him, split open and mumbling nonsense all because of him. This wild need to take care of Richie, in all the ways he wanted, burst through his chest, taking his breath away. 

His hips stuttered, making Richie whine and grind back against him in desperation.

Eddie gave his ass a last light tap with his hand before draping himself over his back again. Richie was shaking, throwing his ass back like he couldn’t get enough.

“I’ve got you, Richie, I’ve got you,” Eddie hushed him. He kissed his shoulder and tasted his salty sweat. “You’re such a good boy, you know that?”

He couldn’t even describe the sound that came out of Richie’s mouth in response. It was high-pitched and desperate, and had Eddie snapping his hips forward suddenly.

Richie mouthed Eddie’s name, eyelids fluttering shut.

Eddie grinded into him before pulling out and throwing back in again. Richie’s jaw was slack to let all sorts of sounds drop out of his mouth like a song.

“You’re taking me so damn well,” Eddie grunted. “Bet I could fuck you all night. Coulda let you come rutting against me on the wall and you would’ve let me fuck you soft, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, nodding against the mattress, helpless and wanting to be, pinned underneath him. “Yeah, Eddie.”

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, so overwhelmed he almost came right then. Shit, Richie might be able to get fucked all night, but Eddie wouldn’t be able to last much longer.

He reached around to where Richie was hard and dripping with precum. Richie gasped, eyes flying open, when Eddie gripped him.

“Does that feel good?” Eddie squeezed his cock as he fucked into him.

“Yes, yes, shit.” Richie’s hips started moving erratically, like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to throw himself. “You feel so—oh my god.”

“I wanna take care of you, Richie,” Eddie murmured. “You wanna come?”

His chest heaved. “Yes, yes, please, Eddie.”

He groaned openly. “Oh, you don’t have to beg, I’ll give you anything you want.”

So Richie burst over his fist, hot and wet and everywhere, clamping down tight around his dick. Eddie watched pleasure wash over his face before he hid it in the mattress again.

It only took Eddie a few more jerky movements to come after him, lost in the ecstasy of Richie shuddering underneath him.

Richie’s chest was still shuddering when Eddie pulled out.

“I got you, I got you,” Eddie hummed when Richie’s pleased mutterings turned into complaints. He tossed the condom in the garbage and grabbed the wipes he’d left on the bedside table. When he turned him over to clean him up, he noticed tears spilling down Richie’s cheeks. “Shit, are you okay?”

“Yeah, just need a cuddle,” he said, squirming like a worm under the sun. 

Eddie guided Richie away from the wet spot and used a wipe to clean off his stomach, then gently swiped the tears away with his thumb. Richie was all smiles, eyes closed to enjoy Eddie’s ministrations. If Richie wasn’t making a big deal of tearing up a little, then neither would Eddie. 

He settled them against the pillows and wrapped his arms around him. Richie dug his chin into Eddie’s clavicle as he found a comfortable position.

They relaxed like that for a few minutes in silence until ‘Like a Virgin’ kicked off through his speakers.

“How the fuck is this on your sex playlist?” Eddie asked incredulously. “It’s about virginity.”

“Nuh uh. It’s  _ like _ a virgin,” Richie corrected, utterly relaxed after a good fucking. From Eddie. Richie was stretched across him like a cat in the sun because Eddie had fucked him so good he’d probably have trouble walking. “Simile. She’s not saying she is one, she’s saying the sex is so out of this world it’s like the very first time she’s ever been touched.”

Which actually made it the perfect song to come down to after that mind-blowing, possibly earth-shattering experience. 

Before Richie it had just been Myra, who was a woman, and who at the best of times Eddie appreciated as a stable partner and the worst of times he hated from the centre of his being. So it made sense, right? That having sex with a man whose company he enjoyed was leagues different from being with his ex-wife?

Even though he was pretty sure most friends-with-benefits or whatever the fuck they were didn’t have sex with that much… intensity. Passion. Vulnerability.

Richie had cried, for god’s sake.

“Why do you always have to  _ think _ right after?” Richie asked, trailing invisible designs on Eddie’s chest with his finger.

“No, I’m not, like—I was just reminiscing.” Eddie grabbed his hand on his chest. “About the sex we just had.”

He smiled lazily. “It was that good, huh? You already gotta reminisce?”

He hummed. 

Richie didn’t seem to be overwhelmed by what they did. Then again, Richie was looking beyond fucked right now, like he was drunk off Eddie’s dick.

Was this normal? Or was this the logical outcome of feeling almost nothing for romantic partners for so long? To suddenly have a connection with a stranger and do everything possible to make the sex impossible to forget?

Was it just new to Eddie?

“Do you usually cry after sex?” Eddie asked. And there was probably a more delicate way to phrase that, but it didn’t immediately spring to mind.

“I wasn’t crying.”

“I’m not making fun of you, it was hot.”

“If you got turned on by crying, then that’s weird, and I will have to kink shame you, I’m so sorry.”

“That’s really not what I meant, and I think you know that.”

Richie buried his face in Eddie’s chest. It took Eddie a moment to realize Richie was  _ bashful _ . He wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced Richie in such a state. 

“I don’t know,” Richie mumbled. “You just did everything I ever fantasized about.”

“Because you told me all your fantasies,” Eddie said flatly. “In graphic detail. While you masturbated about them. Don’t act like I’m a mind reader.”

Richie’s laugh vibrated through Eddie. “Yeah, but you still listened, and remembered, and then did it. That’s a lot.” He shrugged. “And it was hot. I don’t know what to say, dude, your dick’s so bomb it had me tearing up.”

Eddie ran his hand up his back, rolling his eyes. “You say the sweetest things.”

His smile curved against his chest. “You do, too. Shit, Eds, I mean it. You’re too fucking good to me.”

That’s what mattered, right? As long as Richie didn’t think it was too much, as long as he liked it, it was fine. 

It was enough to bring Eddie out of his post-coital anxiety, at least.

They remembered the champagne, and drank it naked in bed like it was intended to be consumed, or so Richie claimed. It sure felt decadent; lounging naked on high thread count sheets after the best sex of his life. 

He had a feeling that the ‘best sex of his life’ would always just be his most recent encounter with Richie. In the moment, the thought made him warm; that they’d keep seeing each other, and they’d only get better.

“There’s a nice brunch place a few blocks from here,” Eddie said absently, after a lull in conversation. “We could go out tomorrow if you want—you don’t have a meeting until noon.”

He snorted. “Yeah, because I only wake up before noon if I’m getting paid.”

“Are you not getting paid for these meetings? I guess I don’t know how this side of acting works.”

“It’s an expression.” He curled into Eddie’s side. “I like to sleep in.”

He draped an arm around his shoulders. “Well I don’t.” 

And Eddie wanted to make the most of their day together tomorrow. Richie was leaving at 6PM, which didn’t give them much time at all.

But Richie had already gotten fucked once and came twice. Maybe he was done. Maybe he just wanted to laze in bed the next morning and get another orgasm under his belt. And Eddie wasn’t opposed to that, but—he shook his head. It was stupid. Why was he even bringing it up? This was just sex.

“You’re right, nevermind,” Eddie said. “The paparazzi might catch you anyway.”

“I never said no,” Richie said. “And since I stopped doing coke the tabloids have lost interest in me. I’ll wear a hat and be fine.”

“So you wanna go?”

“I’ll make you a deal.” He bit around his nipple, startling a laugh out of Eddie. “Gimme a good morning, and we’ll go for a cute brunch, huh?”

“You strike a hard bargain, but I’m in.”

“Ha. Hard.”

Eddie pressed his lips to his hairline. “You’re an idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm almost done posting my other fic, so I'll probably start updating this one weekly.  
> Also, since I got such a positive response to that sugar daddy au question last time, I will definitely be putting more focus into writing that. I've already got like 14k written and I'm trying to keep it on the shorter end of things! But idk when that's gonna be out.  
> Anyway, please let me know how you liked this chapter!!


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning Eddie woke up at eight, but decided to let Richie sleep in. So he brushed his teeth, tidied up the room a little and then, in a stroke of genius, had an early morning workout in the gym. Richie wanted a good morning, Eddie would deliver.

He slipped back into their hotel room as quietly as he could, but he needn’t have bothered; Richie was still out like a light.

But it was was nine thirty, so Richie had slept enough, especially if they wanted to fool around, get brunch, and have Richie back in time for his first meeting.

Eddie stripped down to his underwear and climbed into bed behind Richie, who was curled up on his side, mouth wide open to release his soft snores. Embarrassingly, it had helped Eddie drift to sleep last night, like a white noise machine.

He went to work on softly waking Richie up; teasing touches, light kisses over his skin. Richie continued his slumber undeterred.

So Eddie nipped him on the shoulder.

“Agh, hey,” Richie grumbled, voice raw with sleep.

“Oh, whoops. Good morning.”

Richie rolled onto his back and Eddie spread his palms across his chest, followed by his mouth.

Richie hummed, eyes closed, and touched Eddie’s shoulder, still slick with sweat. “Oh, hey, what?”

“I went to the gym already.”

“Mm, early bird gets the worm,” he mumbled, dragging his nails up his back before landing in Eddie’s hair.

Eddie snorted against his neck. “That the best you’ve got first thing in the morning?”

Richie blinked at him blearily before lifting the bedsheet to display his naked half chub. “How’s that for best?”

He straddled him. “Oh, I know you can do better than that.”

They made out leisurely, Richie licking any part of Eddie he could reach. Eddie still could’ve believe how much he liked that—Richie sticking his tongue all over his sweaty body. He wasn’t sure he’d do it to Richie. Except maybe his neck. He didn’t mind sucking the sweat from his throat.

Richie moaned, tugging at Eddie’s hair. “Baby, I don’t wanna explain a hickey.”

“They already think you have a girl in here.”

“How about you put one on my dick instead?”

“You don’t think that would hurt?”

But Eddie took the hint and rolled a condom over Richie before taking his full, proud erection into his mouth.

Richie was now fully awake, and so were his vocal chords, spilling groans and curses and endless praise as Eddie worked him over. He came with his fingers tight in Eddie’s hair, which sent a rush straight to his own hard dick in his underwear.

Richie waved a seeking hand after Eddie disposed of the condom. “You?”

“Shower?” 

Richie chuckled, rolling off the bed. “I’m gonna fuck you in a shower one day.”

Eddie grinned sharply. “Don’t get me hot.”

After a shared shower where Richie got delightfully handsy, Eddie got them out the door for brunch.

Richie was ordering them mimosas before their asses even hit the seats. 

It was one of those modern, low-key places; dark wood and pretty bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling, with overpriced, Instagram-worthy meals printed on recycled paper menus.

Eddie had made the mistake of popping in with Myra once, and she’d complained the whole time. He’d mostly agreed with her, but now he couldn’t remember what their problem was, except that it screamed gentrification. And Myra definitely hadn’t cared about that.

“Still can’t believe how early you woke me up,” Richie grumbled, checking his phone for the time after they’d ordered.

“I still can’t believe you’re wearing that hat in public.”

Richie flicked the brim of his cap and winked. It read _I’m with stupid_ with an arrow pointing down. “You don’t like this one, buy me a better one. Kiki got me this so I’d stop wearing one with a dick joke on it.”

“How are you a functioning adult person?”

Before Richie could reply, a table of rambunctious twenty-somethings across the restaurant screeched with laughter. One of them yelled “Gay rights!” and got a cheer from the table.

And the world just kept on spinning.

Eddie turned back to Richie, who was finishing off his mimosa. This was the first time they’d been in public together since they started fucking. Did they look like two cool straight guys sharing a morning meal? Sweat pricked his armpits at the idea that strangers would assume anything else, but he didn’t know what sort of repercussions he expected at a 10AM brunch.

“You ever feel like…?” Eddie trailed off, chin perched on his palm.

Richie leaned forward. “Like what?” 

“Like you’ve wasted half your life?” 

He whistled. “An excellent topic for a light and breezy brunch.”

“Okay, I’ll go fuck myself, then.”

Richie laughed, reaching for Eddie’s hand on the table before he stopped himself. “Fine, yeah, sometimes. Why?”

Eddie gestured at the table of happy young people. “When I was that age, I was so deep in the closet I might as well have been in Narnia. I was convinced the world would end if anyone caught me so much as looking at a guy.”

“Yeah, I get you.” Richie waved his empty glass in the air without looking away from Eddie, as if a mimosa fairy would magically refill his drink. “I still feel that way sometimes.”

“Right, but, then you see _that—”_ He gestured again. “And—and there are out _senators_ and actors and coworkers, and everything’s come so far. Hiding for so long feels so fucking pointless, doesn’t it?”

“I mean, I’m still hiding, so,” Richie said flatly.

“But at least you’re getting fucked good.”

Laughter burst out of Richie freely, and the early morning sun caught his features in a way that made Eddie’s chest tighten.

A waiter served them two fresh mimosas, so Richie passed the guy a ten as a tip right there. “Thanks so much, sorry for waving my glass around like an asshole.”

“Oh. Uh, no problem, sir,” the waiter said, slipping the money into his pocket. “Your meals should be out soon.”

“No rush, kid.”

The waiter left, and Eddie observed, “Nice of you.”

He waved it off. “Ah, I’ve got too much money.”

“And you still dress like that?” he asked mildly.

Richie replied with a lopsided grin. “Dude, I’m fucking obsessed with you, I hope you know that.”

Eddie sipped his mimosa so he could blame his blush on the alcohol.

“Anyway, like I was saying,” Eddie returned them to their original conversation rather than reply. “We spent—at least _I_ spent—so long pretending and lying to myself, but now it’s safe enough to do what we’re doing, mostly, if we’re careful. And I just… why did I waste all that time?”

Richie shook his head. “Because it _wasn’t_ safe when we were growing up. What else were you supposed to do?”

He shrugged. “Not marry a woman and be a miserable asshole for fifteen years?”

He pulled a face. “You say it like it’s a joke, but that’s fucking depressing, dude.”

“Exactly! What did I gain from putting myself through that?”

“Well.” He sipped his mimosa. “You’re alive.”

Yeah. Finally alive, and still worrying about bullshit.

Their meals arrived, and Eddie immediately wished he’d ordered Richie’s eggs benedict; it looked fucking heavenly. But the heavy cream and all that butter would clog up his arteries (not that he’d experienced any concerns that would indicate an existing problem with his arteries).

Richie cut in with gusto. Ooey gooey egg yolk spilled across his plate, coating the back bacon and home fries crowding the English muffin. 

He squinted across the table at Eddie’s sad plate of egg whites and steamed spinach. “What are you allergic to again?”

“Lactose, gluten, certain tree nuts,” he listed off by rote, gazing at Richie’s food. “Honestly, it’s probably less than I think. I’m pretty sure I picked up a few of Myra’s allergies over the years.”

Richie looked at him for a moment, and Eddie very much regretted mentioning his ex-wife again—he wasn’t sure if it really was _again again again,_ but any mention of her felt excessive to Eddie. Like he was haunted by her ghost even though she wasn’t dead; just like his mom, he couldn’t rid himself of their influence.

Richie tugged Eddie’s plate toward him and plopped one of his eggs benedicts onto it. “You wanna start figuring it out now? Eat up, Eds.”

He bit down on a smile as he pulled his plate back to him. “Looks delicious.”

“So do you,” he said with a waggle of his eyebrows. Eddie sent him an unimpressed look. Richie lifted his glass. “Hey, there’s no going back, right? We just gotta enjoy the now.”

“Cheesy,” Eddie said, but clinked his glass against his anyway.

He ate half of Richie’s meal, and it was better than anything he’d eaten in months. He barely touched his eggs whites, the non-flavour of which he’d grown accustomed to, but never really took any enjoyment from. 

“I don’t like egg whites,” Eddie shared his sudden realization.

Richie looked at him over his glasses, not at all surprised. “So you ordered them because…?”

“I…” He frowned, not at all liking where this train of thought took him. Slowly, he said, “If I don’t like it, that means it’s good for me.”

Richie let that sit for a moment before saying, “And that’s why you married a woman?”

Which startled a laugh out of him. “Shut up, you dick.”

Some high schooler with braces walked up to their table and said, “Hey, are you Richie Tozier?”

“No, I’m wearing a hat,” Richie said.

The kid’s face dropped. “Oh, sorry, I—”

That fuck-ass grin popped back up. “Nah, I’m fucking around. You a fan?”

He nodded fervently. “I saw your last show here, man. Never laughed so hard in my life.”

“Ah, thanks, I try. What’s your name?”

“Isaac.”

“Isaac, you want a selfie or something?”

The kid smiled and took out his phone. Richie took off his hat in preparation of the picture and raked a hand through his hair, which didn’t help the mess at all. Richie flipped off the camera as Isaac leaned down next to him, and Isaac followed suit with his free hand. 

Isaac thanked him profusely, and they chatted for a minute longer before Isaac returned to a booth with a woman who must’ve been his mother, if the pursed lips and dirty look she threw at Richie when her son showed her the picture was any indication.

Richie winked at Eddie. “Told you I’m popular.”

“I’ve never doubted your popularity,” Eddie said. “Just been perplexed by it.”

“Oh, come on. My target demographic?” He jerked his chin at Isaac. “They still think South Park is subversive. Easy money.”

“And that’s who you want your comedy to be speaking to? People who like South Park?”

He barked a laugh. “Are you trying to give me career advice, Eddie my man?”

“No.” And he tried to finish with that, since he didn’t know where he was going with this, and he knew nothing about the entertainment industry. But he continued anyways, “Like, it could be _better—”_

“Uh huh?” Richie was grinning.

“Shut up,” Eddie said, because Richie was enjoying this too much. “You’re funny, Richie. But if you hadn’t given me my first blow job I’d never have made it through _one_ of your specials, let alone both—”

“Wait, that was your first BJ last time?” Richie’s voice was low but incredulous. “What the fuck?”

Eddie lifted a brow. “Would it shock you to know I never ate out my ex-wife, either?”

“Dude, if you’d _had_ , I’d be dead from disbelief.” He frowned, putting some pieces together in his head. “Don’t tell me that you’ve only ever had sex with your ex-wife and me?”

He shrugged, which was answer enough.

Richie whistled, brows raised. “You deserve a lot more fucking.”

“Do I now?” He bit down on a smirk.

He nodded, tossing back his last home fry. “Finish your breakfast. I wanna do dirty things to you.”

Once they got back to the hotel, they had like ten minutes to lounge around the room before Richie had to leave. Eddie had been debating just going home, because Richie would get back only an hour before he needed to leave for the airport, but Richie wanting him to stick around was enough to get Eddie to stay.

He was filming some celebrity Youtube thing, so it took most of the day. When Richie returned, they wasted no time falling into bed together one more time. 

Richie was sore, as he’d requested to be, but also still a little stretched, and squirming in Eddie’s lap with a clear request. They got him nice and loose again, and then Richie decided to ride him.

“You sure you’re alright?” Eddie asked as Richie’s thighs met his. He barely managed the question past the glorious sensation of Richie sinking onto him.

He smirked down at him softly. “Yeah, Eds. You fill me up real good.”

Eddie threw his arm over his face with a groan, and Richie chuckled.

He laid his palms on Eddie’s chest for balance and rocked slowly, bringing himself up and dropping down at a gentle, excruciating pace. 

Eddie couldn’t stop looking at him. His softly pinched brows, his bruised lips parted just enough to release his exhales and throaty moans. He was mesmerized.

Richie caught Eddie staring. “What?”

Eddie shook his head. He sat up, holding Richie’s hip to keep him balanced on his dick, and clutched at his back as Richie rolled his hips, the new angle apparently hitting a _very_ good spot for him. 

Richie dropped his head back and groaned, almost a choke. Eddie kissed his sweaty throat as Richie took his pleasure grinding down on Eddie’s lap.

“You’re so fucking hot, Rich,” he mumbled, buried deep into the depths of him and desperate to keep it that way. 

Richie hooked an arm around Eddie’s neck to hold him close, their slick chests sliding. Richie’s erection bobbed between their stomachs as he started bouncing on Eddie’s cock with a fresh determination, breathy _ah ah ah_ s spilling from his mouth until his legs gave out.

After they were done Eddie showered again, and he reflected that this was the most he’d come in the span of a weekend since before he’d been married. And certainly the most he’d come with an actual person rather than his own hand.

He was tuckered out, but seeing that Richie was hobbling just a little still put a smile on his face.

“You gonna be alright sitting on a plane for six hours?” Eddie asked with no small amount of smugness.

“Probably not, but it was worth it,” Richie said, gingerly walking over to him. He looped his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and pressed his forehead to his. “Do I even need to say what an amazing time I had this weekend?”

“No, I think the tears from both times I had my dick up your ass says it all.”

He grabbed his ass with a grin. “You just fuck me too good, baby.”

“Okay, I’ll be mediocre next time.”

Richie chuckled into Eddie’s shoulder where he’d hidden his face. Eddie cupped the back of his neck, thumbing over the hair curling there. Neither of them made any move to part.

Richie’s phone trilled.

Eddie groaned as Richie stepped back. “Five minutes?”

“Nah, I gave myself twenty minutes to get all my shit together.”

“I could help you pack—”

Richie laughed. “No, Steve’s gonna send in somebody soon to do it for me.”

“You can’t pack your own shit?”

“After I forgot my passport in a hotel and didn’t notice until two hours of traffic to get to the airport later?” He raised his brows. “They’re not taking chances.”

“Jesus.”

“I mean, we were just in Canada, that’s basically the same country—”

“It’s really not.”

They squabbled a few more minutes until Eddie decided that he really needed to get going.

“Text me if you get bored waiting at the airport,” Eddie said, kissing him as he edged closer the door. Richie kept following his mouth though, so they weren’t getting any farther away from each other.

“I’ll text you when I’m bored in the _cab.”_

Eddie grinned and let Richie kiss him again, hand on the doorknob behind him. He twisted his bag until it was against his back so Richie could press himself up against him one more time. 

“Okay, I’ll talk to you then,” Eddie sighed. “Goodbye.”

Richie breathed a laugh against his neck and finally pulled back. “Okay. Bye, Eds.”

“Bye, Richie.”

Eddie managed to step into the hall and close the door behind him without either of them trying to kiss each other again, which he counted as a win until he noticed the pink-haired woman from the elevator right in front of him. 

What had Richie said her name was? Kiki?

Her name swooshed through him like an afterthought as panic settled in. 

She frowned at him, switching her narrowed eyes between him and the room she’d just watched him leave.

He blinked at her.

She stuck out a hand loaded with thick silver rings, her wrist clasped in a studded leather cuff. “Kiki Garcia.”

He shook her hand and hoped she didn’t notice how abruptly clammy his palm was. “Edward Kaspbrak. Can I help you?”

“Did you have an appointment with Richie?”

“Is that your business?”

It almost certainly was, but she didn’t know that he knew that.

Kiki stared at him, chewing tropical-scented gum like her life depended on it. Did she recognize him from the elevator yesterday?

“I work with Richie,” she said, which still didn’t give her a title. And ‘with’ was an interesting preposition when she looked young enough to have just graduated with a bachelor’s degree in media studies. “He didn’t have a meeting scheduled in his room.”

Was she a fucking detective? 

Eddie took a breath. Weighed the pros and cons of various lies.

“We met in the lobby. It was a preliminary consult about risk analysis.”

“Risk analysis?”

“For Mr. Tozier’s finances,” Eddie said, easily slipping into his professional persona. “Risk versus benefit for investments, merchandising, brand deals, et cetera.”

He knew he’d made a mistake the moment her face lit up. 

“Merch, yes! And brand deals!” She talked with her hands, clearly hooked. “I don’t understand why, but we get so many offers we don’t know what to do with them.”

“Totally understandable, considering you have to take into account your client’s brand as well,” Eddie said, trying to tone down her excitement. “Everyone has a specific reputation, and you don’t want him representing an inferior product, either.”

“And you’d do the research on that?”

Fuck. She was more enthralled than his ex-wife ever was listening to him talk about his job.

“That’s one of the services my firm provides,” he half-lied with a proficiency of growing up with a mother who couldn’t bear to hear the truth.

“We’ll be in touch, then. Can I get your card? Richie can’t keep track of anything.”

Eddie reached into his wallet, and gave her his real business card, with his name and company and phone number and everything, and felt his stomach go with it. “I’m not sure he was convinced, and I’m based in New York anyway, but I’d be happy to give you some referrals for LA.”

He could still get out of this.

“I appreciate it, Edward.” Kiki tucked his business card in her back pocket, and with any luck she’d put those jeans through the wash without taking it out.

At least she seemed entirely convinced that he was a random business guy trying to score a big client, and not someone who’d just had her boss’s tongue in his mouth. 

Eddie had his phone out before he even called for the elevator, frantically shooting a text as Kiki knocked on Richie’s door.

Eddie: _Put some clothes on_

He was texting more explanations before Richie even responded, and he barely read Richie’s replies as his thumbs flew across the keys.

Eddie: _I told her we talked risk analysis for your finances_

Richie: _What?_

Eddie: _She caught me right as I was leaving your room_

Richie: _Who?_

_Oh_

_What the fuck am I supposed to tell her?_

Eddie: _We met in the lobby. Talked about brand deals?_

_Just say it was boring and you’re not interested_

He darted into the elevator before any more of Richie’s work associates could see him.

Richie: _You gave her your card??!_

Eddie: _She asked for it!_

Richie: _Because she is VERY interested. Fuck me, she’s gonna take it to Steve_

_They’ve been up my ass about this shit for months why did you do this to me_

Eddie: _I mean, you can tell her we were fucking all weekend instead, but I couldn’t think of a better lie_

Richie: _She still wouldn’t let it go, you’re a real risk analyst_

Eddie: _But I’m not based in LA. If she calls I’ll refer her to a different firm_

Richie: _You couldn’t have just said you were a Jehovah’s witness??_

Eddie: _Why would you have let a Jehovah’s witness into your room???_

Richie: _Maybe I wanna find Jesus_

Eddie: _You’d rather pretend to become born again than talk about financial investments and brand deals?_

Richie: 🙃🙃🙃😬

Eddie sighed and called himself a cab.

What a weekend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact about that last scene, all I needed was like two-sentences of transition with Eddie leaving the room, and then I had the thought 'what if one of Richie's people sees him?' and that got me the next *checks notes* 7,000 words of plot! So I hope you're excited to go wherever the fuck I decided to take this. Because it's definitely fun, but necessary?? Debatable.  
> Anyway, please let me know how you liked this chapter!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm excited you're all ready to go on this journey of Eddie doing work at his office and trying to figure out what the fuck celebrity risk assessment is supposed to mean (bc I sure don't, I did literally no research for his job). Hope you like it anyway!  
> Warning for discussions of past drug use

Two days later, Eddie was returning to the office after an inconsequential client meeting. His plan for the next twenty or so minutes until his lunch was to skim his emails and then text Richie at his desk.

But on his way through the open office area where they kept all the interns and junior associates who didn’t deserve their own office, he heard Joshua, an idiot, taking a call that was very clearly confusing to him.

“Brand deals?” Joshua was asking, scratching at his sandy blonde hair. “And you’re saying Edward… wait, Richie Tozier?” 

Eddie stopped dead in his tracks, remembering with stark clarity that if his office phone rang long enough, the caller had the option to leave a voicemail, or to be transferred to another associate.

Joshua covered the receiver with his hand and gaped at Eddie. “Eddie, you know Richie Tozier?”

Eddie reached into his jacket for his pill bottle and calmly poured two into his palm. He crunched them between his teeth, saying, “We ran into each other this weekend. I thought working with him might be a good business opportunity. I’m rethinking that now.”

He had been under the impression that Richie was handling the situation. Suddenly, he didn’t understand why he thought that, because the last thing Richie had said on the matter was “I hate this” and not anything akin to “I’ll make sure this all goes away.”

Joshua returned to the phone. “Oh wow, yeah we’d love to help out Trashmouth—“

Eddie lunged toward his desk. “Transfer the call to my office right now.”

Joshua waved him off, which caused Eddie’s heart rate to spike in an unhealthy fashion. He spun in his chair, putting his back to Eddie. “So, Kiki, was it? Can I get your information? Who should be our point of contact?”

Eddie rounded the desk as Harriet came out of her office to see what the commotion was. She didn’t seem fazed by Eddie ripping the phone out of Joshua’s hand.

“Edward Kaspbrak speaking,” Eddie said.

Joshua started wrestling for the phone back, so in one quick motion, he kicked his desk chair away, and sent him rolling over to Harriet.

“Eddie!” Kiki greeted with too much familiarity. “Thanks for taking my call. I’m reaching out on behalf of Steven Hastings. Our client was really taken with you—we suggested some local firms to consult with, but he wouldn’t hear about any of it unless you were involved.”

He closed his eyes, wondering if anyone had ever tried to physically shake some sense into Richie. “Funny you should say that, our firm actually has a location in LA, I’d be happy to start up the referral process.”

“Oh? You wouldn’t take this on yourself? For Richie Tozier?” She added as though the name was an incentive and not making him break out in hives.

“Unfortunately—” Harriet gestured frantically at him from beside Joshua, who’d clearly explained the situation to her. “Since he’s on the other side of the country, I’m not sure the—“

Harriet jerked her thumb across her neck in a motion Eddie couldn’t apply to the current situation.

“Would I be able to place you on a brief hold, Ms. Garcia?” he asked.

“If you never call me that again, sure.”

“Thanks, Kiki,” he corrected before putting her on hold. 

As soon as he’d done so, Harriet demanded, “Are you trying to pass on a celebrity client?”

“I never pegged you as a stand up comedy fan, Harriet,” Eddie bit out.

“I’m a fan of the money and the opportunities this would give us.”

“They’re not looking for just input on financial risks. They want help with merchandising. And brand research,” he explained. “We don’t do that.”

Harriet spread her hands. “Then why’d you give him your card?”

He flushed. “Maybe I was drunk. Maybe I just wanted an autograph. It doesn’t matter, especially since he’s in a state where we have a sister branch—”

“Screw those spray-tanned bobble heads. This is _ours_.”

“We can’t do it.”

Which was when their boss, Kenneth, walked in. 

He was an older, heavyset man who one might describe as jolly, but not necessarily competent in his current acting position, which he’d been in for six months. Eddie had been gunning for the role before his divorce. Now he couldn’t fathom putting any more effort into this job than he already did.

“What have I said about that pessimistic attitude, Eddie?” Kenneth asked with a smile. Eddie wanted to throw him out the floor-to-ceiling window. “What are you saying we can’t do now?”

“Take Richie Tozier on as a client,” Harriet swooped in before Eddie could open his mouth. 

Kenneth frowned, but quickly brightened. “The comedian? How exciting. What would he need us for?”

“Risk analysis for potential brand deals.”

Kenneth cocked his head. “Do we do that now?”

“No!” Eddie shouted as Harriet said, “Yes!”

He nodded at Harriet approvingly. “Well, I like yes’s more than no’s, so let’s make it happen. Harriet, you’re in charge of the account.”

Eddie’s eyes bulged. “They called for me specifically!”

“And you said no,” Harriet said, punching her extension into Joshua’s phone. She shot him a wrinkly-nosed smile. “I’ll be in my office.”

Eddie took a moment. Focused on his breathing. Rolled through the options in his head. 

He didn’t go to his own office, where he had work waiting. He didn’t even text Richie, because this was a verbal conversation that would need to wait until they were alone. 

He went to the break room.

The way he saw it, there were three ways this could go. 

Harriett convinced Kiki she could handle it and Eddie didn’t have to worry about the rest.

Kiki kept asking for Eddie, to which Harriett declined and it all went away.

Or the worst one, Kiki demanded Eddie’s involvement, and—

“Kasprak.”

Eddie looked up from where he was debating adding sugar to the coffee he’d just made himself. Harriet’s smug smile from ten minutes ago had devolved into a scowl.

“Don’t tell me she’s still on the line,” he pleaded.

“She is,” she said tersely from the doorway. “And she wants you.”

Which translated to _Richie_ wanted him, but of course Harriet didn’t know that. And Kiki didn’t know the full reasoning. This was all going to explode in Richie’s face, and Eddie didn’t understand why he thought it would be fun to drag Eddie into his professional life like this.

“Tell her I’m busy.” Eddie grimaced as he took a sip of black coffee. “Tell her I quit. Tell her I died.”

“She’s offering double our normal rate.”

And Eddie didn’t know if that was Richie offering it, or Kiki, or Steve, or whoever, but either way, Eddie would not be allowed to turn down that amount of money for no good reason (and apparently the fact that they didn’t _do_ this type of risk analysis wasn’t a good enough reason).

At least he’d probably be able to convince himself to buy a new TV after this.

“Fine.” He strode past her into the hall. “But you’re doing the research on whatever the fuck risk assessment for celebrity careers means.”

“Just as long as I’m compensated,” she replied, heading to her office. “I’ll patch her through.”

Eddie kicked his door shut and slumped into his desk chair a moment before his phone rang.

“Eddie!” Kiki greeted in the exact same pitch as before. Ugh, these LA people. “Sorry to dog you like this, but Richie really saw something in you, he just won’t be talked out of it. And you know— _actors_.”

“Does doing stand-up qualify him as an actor?”

“I’ll send you his filmography along with everything else.”

Eddie groaned.

Richie sent him a few texts through the rest of the day, which Eddie ignored. He was too busy doing the job Richie had plopped in his lap. 

Much to Harriet’s irritation, even though he’d told her to research, Eddie didn’t let her do it on her own. While he trusted her competence wholeheartedly, he didn’t want her knowing anything more than him on the subject, so he sat over her shoulder as she pulled resources and made calls. 

They both had a horrible afternoon.

As soon as Eddie got through his apartment door, he called Richie.

He answered immediately.

“Good afternoon, my sweet—”

“This is stupid.”

“Baby—”

“This is stupid and I hate you.” 

“Don’t be like that—”

“Don’t tell me how to be, dipshit!” He’d been bottling it up all day, and now he was ready to burst. Every _why_ and _how_ and _and another thing!_ that was rattling around in his head while he tried to work. “Listen to me—this is a dedicated paper trail between us. Is that what you want? For your career, staying in the closet-wise?”

“It’ll be—” He huffed. “I mean, what do you think’s gonna happen?”

“I don’t know!” Eddie kicked his shoes off and yanked his tie loose. “What do _you_ think, were you _thinking?”_

“Yeah, it could be fun,” Richie tried.

“Fun? Sneaking around and getting caught is fun to you?”

“Who’s gonna catch us?”

“Kiki? Your manager? My boss? My coworkers?” He gestured incredulously even though Richie couldn’t see him. “You hit reply all instead of reply to one of my emails, and suddenly all the interns in my office are tweeting about how Richie Tozier sucks dick?”

Incredibly, Richie’s response to that was, “I don’t read my emails.”

Eddie massaged his temple. “I just keep coming back to the sensible thing, which is to have the smallest amount of connection possible between you—a closeted celebrity—and the man you’re fucking. That makes sense, right? I’m not out of my mind here?”

“Yeah, it makes sense,” he said, subdued.

Eddie popped a pill. He was desperately trying to connect the dots here. Did Richie really have this little foresight, or was there something else going on?

They’d talked, at length, about whether Richie felt good in the closet. Not that Eddie was fond of the term, especially for himself. Who was there to tell? He didn’t have any friends. His mother was dead—and if she weren’t and he told her, it would kill her. If someone at work were to bring it up, he wouldn’t lie and start talking about women, but they’d have to ask very specific questions to get the truth out of him. Because they didn’t matter, and his life was his own.

Richie’s situation was similar, in a sense—the whole world didn’t need to know his business, even if his career was based on the lie that he was honest to the point of TMI. Richie didn’t want to make a big deal out it, didn’t want to be a gay spokesperson. And he’d mentioned getting fucked up as a kid for being gay, long before he could even admit it to himself. That fear and repression didn’t just disappear.

Nor did the worry over losing certain audience demographics; it was his career, after all. 

Eddie was trying to protect that. Shouldn’t Richie be doing the same?

“Unless, do you… do you _want_ to come out?” Eddie asked carefully. “Publicly?”

“No…” Richie dragged out the word. He popped over to a joke, “Why, you embarrassed of me?”

He rolled his eyes. “How would I be embarrassed of you?”

“I make a living making dick and pussy jokes.”

“Yeah, that’s embarrassing, but it’s embarrassing for _you._ I’m not the one with the shitty sense of humour.”

“Uh, yeah you are, you laugh at my jokes all the time.”

“Well this isn’t a joke,” Eddie insisted, rounding back to the original topic. “It’s stupid _like_ your jokes—”

“Hey!”

He let out a short sigh. “Like your ghostwriters’ jokes,” he amended, because he didn’t wanna be mean. “Besides, it makes no goddamn sense, you’re giving me _more_ work. So much work! Is that what you want? For me to have less time to text you?”

“I mean, won’t you get to call me on official business now?”

“No, dumbass, I’ll be talking to Kiki!” Eddie said, getting riled up all over again. “Or your manager, or your agent. You have all these people on your payroll just so you don’t have to talk to boring suits like me, come _on._ Is that seriously why you insisted I was the only risk analyst you’d work with?”

Richie went quiet, which was weird. 

Eddie straightened his wall calendar as he waited for him to respond. He could go on. And on and on; he had a lot more thoughts on the matter. But first he wanted to know what, exactly, the fuck Richie was thinking.

“I know it’s… a conceptually horrible idea,” Richie began. “Getting you involved like this.”

And he leaned on the word ‘you’, agreeing with everything Eddie had said—that having his fuck buddy (or whatever they were) work for him had every probability of imploding in their faces.

“But.” Richie’s sigh crackled down the line. “They kept talking about big companies and marketing teams, and… I already have people writing my comedy routines for me, I don’t want some stranger writing out my whole life because they think it’ll hit another demographic.”

Oh.

The high-level exasperation sizzling in Eddie since he first heard Kiki’s voice over the phone started to dissipate.

Richie continued, “And like, I can give my input, but if my team fights me on it, I figure they know best and just go along with whatever they’ve decided is gonna make the most money.”

“So what do you want me to do?” Eddie asked, not quite pleading, but certainly at a loss. “Richie, they definitely know better than me. I’m gonna be guessing this whole time.”

“Yeah, but you know—you know what I’d want, right? Just, can you… can you help me, Eds? Please?”

Eddie slumped onto the couch. How was he supposed to say no to that? “You gotta be careful though, Richie.”

“I will,” he said quickly. “I’ll behave, I promise.”

“Then okay,” Eddie agreed. He sighed, tipping his head back on the coach. “Not like I can turn down double my going rate anyway.”

“Double?” he scoffed. “I’ll make it triple.”

Laughter escaped Eddie’s chest, replacing this heavy feeling settling into him. “Richie, my firm isn’t cheap. Double is plenty.”

“Can I tip you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a stripper?”

“You could be.” And Eddie could hear his wink.

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll add some bullshit consultation fees onto the final bill, if that makes you feel better.”

“You got yourself a deal!”

The next morning, Eddie’s inbox was inundated with emails from Richie’s people. Some of them were important. Many of them weren’t.

“Steve’s my manager, but he’s kind of an ass, so Kiki’s the one who deals with people for me,” Richie was saying, on Eddie’s business line, because Richie somehow convinced his team that he should be talking to Eddie directly, after all. Kiki’s sighed explanation of _‘Actors’_ bounced around Eddie’s head. “I think she’s technically his assistant, but it says something different on her business card, and she gets paid better than an assistant.”

“Mm hm,” Eddie hummed, scrolling through his never-ending inbox.

“I think you saw Valerie Keatings at the hotel, too?” Richie continued. “With the glasses? She’s my social media manager. Both of them are gonna want their hands all over this, and if you don’t reply to their emails quick enough they _will_ call you. Like animals.”

“Maybe you just need to reply to their emails, Rich.”

“And then Fiona Shwartz is my agent, I don’t know if she’s reached out—”

“I think it’s a bit early to be talking to your agent. I haven’t even reviewed the companies you’ve declined yet.”

“I didn’t decline _all_ of them,” Richie said. “But the ones I agreed to apparently ‘weren’t good for my image’. It’s _my_ image, isn’t it?”

Eddie just flat out deleted an email with the title of ‘intern’ in the sign off. “Why are all your people obsessed with me?”

Joshua popped in to drop off a coffee for Eddie, and then stood there smiling at the phone expectantly.

Eddie sighed. “I mean, I know why _my_ office is so interested, they all want tickets to your next show.” He flipped Joshua off, which he took as his cue to leave.

“That can be arranged.”

“Don’t bother.”

“What, you don’t wanna see me in action?” 

“Do I wanna see you on stage for an hour complaining about how your girlfriend cramps your style?” Eddie said, dripping with sarcasm. “Gosh, how could I say no?”

“VIP tickets,” he trailed off in an attempt to be enticing.

“Hold that thought.” He got up to close the door Joshua had rudely left open before returning to the call. “Does that stand for Very Important Penis?”

“Oh, Eddie, coming for my brand!” he laughed. 

“Really though, tell your people I’ll be deleting all emails unless they’re from Kiki, Valerie or Steve. Or your agent, I guess. God, how many fucking people do you _have?”_

“I think most of them are technically Steve’s people. They just want me making more money, because that means more money for them. I’ll tell Kiki to tell them to fuck off.”

They chatted for a few more minutes while Eddie flipped through his new ‘Trashmouth’ folder looking for the one email he wanted. Finally he found an attachment of a neat spreadsheet, with brands and their contact information, dates of when they were declined and why.

“Oh fuck, this is a tight little spreadsheet,” Eddie breathed.

There was a pause. “Are you… are you turned on a little bit?”

“I’m turned on a lot,” he corrected. He’d had too many clients send their information in metaphorical garbage bags; typo-ridden documents and repeating file names, blurry jpegs—nobody ever wants a fucking jpeg, okay? And then they got pissed when he asked for clarification. This spreadsheet was exactly what Eddie wanted but never got. “Did Kiki make this?”

“If she’s the one who sent it.”

“Get rid of Steve, Kiki’s all you need.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her that,” he said with a smile in his voice.

Eddie took a sip of coffee as he skimmed the companies, and nearly choked. “You agreed to rep an erectile dysfunction medication?”

“Yeah, I thought it would be funny,” Richie replied nonchalantly. “And they said I’d get a writing credit for the commercial.”

“Wouldn’t that be bad for your, like, brand? Aging fuckboy Richie Tozier?” 

“Oof, aging fuckboy, you really hit where it hurts.” He added, “I might use that, actually.”

“Quit stealing my jokes.”

“Stop being funnier than me.”

Eddie laughed hard at that. Then he read the details of the aforementioned brand deal. Richie’s people had turned it down two months ago, which was actually kind of surprising considering, “Whoa, they wanted you as a spokesperson for a national ad campaign?”

“It was gonna be so funny! I’d be the dick pill guy for the rest of my life!” he enthused. “Think of the memes.”

“The fuck is a meme?”

“Are you serious? Looks like this aging fuckboy is dating a grandpa.”

“Sorry I don’t spend all day on Twitter like you do. I have a real job?”

“Yeah, it’s _really_ boring.” Eddie didn’t laugh. Richie continued, “Check Valerie’s emails, I’m sure she included some memes of me. Y’know,” he added with the tone of an eye roll. “So you can better understand my brand.”

“Well I was gonna read them all, but then you called, and I haven’t had the chance.”

“Did you want me to hang up?”

“No…” He clicked on an email notification, swearing in irritation and accepting Kiki’s request to be a Skype contact. “Oh my god, whatever,” he mumbled. To Richie, he said, “I mean, you just summarized the emails, so—”

A Skype chat window from Kiki Garcia popped up: _PLEASE tell Richie to hang up_

“What the—are you with Kiki?”

“Yeah, I’m late for a meeting.”

“Hang up, fucko!”

“Jesus, is this how you treat all your clients?”

“Yes! Get off my line.”

“I’m looking forward to developing our business relationship!”

Much of Eddie’s next week was dedicated to trying to keep up in meetings with Harriet and Kiki discussing shit like improving market positioning and strategies to stay true to an established public persona. Eddie caught on to most of it, but Harriet was definitely absorbing all this nonsense much faster than him.

So it was a breath of fresh air when the financial meeting came up.

Eddie hadn’t been aware of how many shitty sitcoms and bad movies Richie had been in before he finally hit his stride as a stand up comic. Plus all the touring, and the ugly merch (not even ugly in a cool way, just badly designed—Eddie was putting them in touch with a better graphic designer), and somebody had already got investments going for him, probably Steve. It all really added up in Richie’s favour.

He shouldn’t be surprised; even before Eddie knew Richie was a celebrity, he knew he had money. He’d kind of just expected him to be really bad at managing it.

A week into… whatever the fuck he and Harriet had decided they were doing with this account, Eddie was on a conference call with Kiki and Valerie, discussing investments and potential charitable donations (Valerie’s idea). 

“Not to sound presumptuous.” Eddie was on speakerphone as he looked over the figures in his spreadsheet. “But I’m surprised at how well-kept Mr. Tozier’s finances are. He doesn’t strike me as being incredibly fiscally responsible.”

“You asked him to stop calling him Mr. Tozier, right?” he heard Valerie mutter. “It’s weird.”

“Yeah, and I’ve also told you where the fucking mute button is,” Kiki retorted in an equal mutter. Louder, she replied, “He’s been on kind of an allowance for a few years, Eddie.”

Eddie’s fingers stopped typing, stomach curdling at the implications of that word. “An allowance?”

“After he tried to buy a helicopter when he was…” Valerie trailed off.

“High on life!” Kiki finished for her. “You know?”

Even without Richie having told him about his previous past time, Eddie could probably guess she meant something stronger than weed. 

He tried not to let his irritation seep too much into his tone. “Are you in the habit of spilling your client’s personal business with so little prompting?”

“It was trending on Twitter like four years ago,” Valerie replies. “It’s not like it’s a secret.”

Eddie leaned back in his chair, glaring at his phone. “Then remind me?” 

“His girlfriend dumped him, he went on a bender,” Kiki said plainly, “and then he tried to buy a helicopter because no one would take him sky-diving at two in the morning. But he forgot his banking password, so he called Steve for it, who killed the whole thing pretty quick.”

“I should hope so…” Eddie muttered, googling how much helicopters cost.

“So Richie agreed to a restricted monthly budget. After he sobered up.”

“It’s still more than I make in three months,” Valerie grumbled, still not on mute.

Kiki clicked her tongue. “Well, when _you_ get famous, Valerie, you can blow all your money on vintage records and online porn subscriptions like Richie does.”

“Anyway…” Eddie said, praying for a little bit of professionalism, but knowing that it was his fault for getting them off-track in the first place.

“Right!” Kiki said with what sounded like a clap of her hands. “So I wouldn’t say no to five thousand dollars in a high risk savings account just to see what happens…”

Later that night, Eddie and Richie were video chatting in bed. Richie was eating takeout, and Eddie was getting into a late-night snack.

“Do you have copies of all the movies you’re in?” Eddie asked, crunching down on popcorn. With _butter_ . And _salt_. Because Richie saw him eating it plain and made him put some flavour on it (“Fuck a healthy snack!”). It was, admittedly, much better like this.

On Eddie’s laptop screen, Richie pulled a face. “I don’t even have recordings of my standups. If I cancel my Netflix subscription, they’re gone.”

“Are you sure?”

“No actually, but it’s not like I’m gonna watch them anyway. And I definitely don’t have my old movies. Why?” He raised his brows. _“You_ don’t wanna watch them, do you?”

He shrugged. “You look cute in some of the trailers.”

“Yeah, before high def ruined my life.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“You think that, because you haven’t seen my face on the big screen yet. When’re getting that TV?”

Richie had nearly keeled over in shock when Eddie told him how long he’d been without one. Eddie had taken to sending him links to ones he liked for his opinion, and Richie always said they were a good pick, but Eddie still couldn’t decide.

He tossed back another handful of greasy popcorn. “I dunno, I’m supposed to have a pretty big paycheck coming my way soon.”

“And then you’ll start living in this century? Dude, I’ve got like three TVs in my penthouse all by myself.”

“Well that’s pure gluttony.”

Richie threw his head back and laughed, slurping up a pad thai noodle in the process. It was gross. Eddie wished he was there next to him. He tried to squash the feeling, even though it cropped up basically every time he saw Richie’s face. Or texted him. Or heard concerning stories about him from his coworkers.

“Hey, so speaking of overzealous spending habits,” Eddie said.

He lifted a brow. “Were we speaking of that?”

“You almost bought a helicopter after your girlfriend dumped you,” Eddie blurted. For some reason it sounded like an accusation. 

Richie lifted his other eyebrow, so they were both raised high on his forehead.

“Four years ago,” Eddie added. 

“Okay?”

“High on coke,” he concluded, as if Richie might mix it up with any other spending spree.

A bit more annoyed, he asked, “Did—was that what Kiki and Valerie had to discuss with you today? Did those fuckers really tell you I was on coke?”

“Kiki said you were high on life. The TMZ article I read said you nearly overdosed on cocaine.”

He pointed a finger. “The overdose is speculation.”

“What the fuck, dude?” Eddie decided to get more specific with his questioning.

Richie set his takeout container down with a sigh. Looking at his crumpled bedsheets instead of the camera, he said, “I told you I don’t do that anymore.”

“You went to rehab.”

“It’s a rite of passage out here.”

Eddie took a sip of water. They were both silent for a moment, waiting for the other to speak. Eddie couldn’t explain why he was asking. It was four years ago, Richie seemed fine now, and it wasn’t really any of Eddie’s business in the first place.

But sitting in his office trawling through four year-old news articles on Richie’s coke habit had gotten Eddie’s chest clenching hard enough that he’d had to take a pill. Eddie worried; it was his main personality trait. Richie needed to convince him he didn’t have to worry about this.

“The articles said it got that bad because the break-up hit you so hard,” Eddie prompted.

His mouth twitched in irritation. “Yeah. That’s what I fucking told everybody.”

“What actually happened?”

Richie met his eyes for a moment before focusing on his collarbone instead. “It was before I, like, came out to myself. She wasn’t a beard or anything, she was my actual girlfriend, but she saw right through me. Told me I probably wanted to fuck men. She wasn’t nasty about it…” He shook his head. “I just couldn’t take it.”

He let that digest. Richie got fucked up and nearly blew his life savings as a response to someone guessing he was gay.

Eddie could relate; he’d thrown his whole life into Myra’s hands to stop anyone, including himself, wondering about where his true inclinations might lie.

“I get that,” Eddie finally said.

“Yeah?”

“I swear Myra knew, from day she met me, exactly how much I wanted to hide from myself.” He spat a bitter popcorn kernel into a tissue. “I don’t know if she thought she was doing me a favour, or if she was trying to un-gay me, or what.”

The corner of Richie’s mouth pulled up. “Lucky for us, she failed.”

“Eventually. But she made it so easy to pretend that I was who I was supposed to be.” 

Their gazes met unintentionally; Eddie just looked anywhere but at Richie’s face until he ended up there anyway, where Richie was giving him the softest smile.

“Can I be sappy for a sec?” Richie asked.

“What’re you gonna do if I say no?”

“Probably say it anyway.”

Eddie leaned forward, grinning lazily. “Then no.”

Richie’s smile only grew. “You make it easy to be who I am.”

Eddie’s breath left him in a _whoosh._

He didn’t know how else to respond, because that was the… kindest? Most earnest? _Most_ , it was just the _most_ anyone had ever managed to say about Eddie. Because he didn’t let people see him, and he didn’t look too deeply into others, either. He barely looked at himself. 

But he liked who he was with Richie. He ignored the way his lungs seemed to squeeze at the realization, because it made him think about who he was with Myra, vindictive and vindicated and waking up in the morning out of spite. 

Now he woke up to Richie’s good morning texts.

“And who I am, is a fucking Trashmouth,” Richie added hastily when Eddie just gaped at him.

Because they weren’t serious. They lived on opposite coasts. They weren’t anything to each other, and Eddie couldn’t hinge who he was on another person again.

“Fuck off,” Eddie said, desperate to pull himself out of his own head. “You know, the worst part about you not being here is that I can’t kiss you to shut you up.”

His grin turned wicked. “Oh yeah? How else would you shut me up, babe?”

Like flicking a switch, warmth pooled in Eddie’s stomach. He set aside his popcorn. And he stopped thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do we like Eddie being at his workplace? I feel like it's not in a lot of fics (which makes sense because who cares honestly) but I've been having a lot of fun with this!  
> Also, I recently got a Twitter to talk about reddie and my fic writing process, it's [@doeeyeskasprak](https://twitter.com/doeeyeskasprak) if you are interested in that. Maybe I'll start posting previews there, who knows...  
> Anyway, let me know how you liked this chapter!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your feedback!! This fic has hit over 300 kudos, which is very exciting for me, I'm happy so many people are enjoying this journey I'm taking with the characters.

For some reason, Harriett brought Joshua onto the project. The two of them had set up at the empty desk across from Eddie’s for a brainstorming session going over numbers, options, and the best way to present it all to the client.

Joshua still hadn’t gotten over the fact they were working for Trashmouth.

“Do you watch his stuff?” Joshua asked, scrolling through his laptop on sites that definitely weren’t work-related. 

“It’s not funny.”

“But you’ve watched it?” Joshua said to Eddie. “Do you follow him on Twitter?”

“I don’t have a Twitter.”

Which was the wrong thing to say, apparently. 

“Oh, it’s a riot.” Joshua dug his phone out of his pocket and started reciting Richie’s tweets, which Eddie of course had already read.

“Harriet—” Eddie tried to appeal to a voice of reason.

She held up a hand, attention on her laptop. “Don’t distract me.”

“‘I asked my girlfriend what she thought my brand was,’” Joshua continued reading straight off Richie’s Twitter feed, “‘And she said aging fuckboy. Is she right, or should I dump her?’”

Joshua cackled. Eddie’s lips twisted. 

It was fine. Richie had said he might use that, but it was Valerie who posted it anyway, after Richie told his team an edited version of Eddie’s joke.

And then it got turned into a mediocre tweet about his imaginary girlfriend. 

Which was fine. Eddie didn’t feel any type of way about it. He didn’t want to be dating Richie Tozier. He wasn’t _anything_ to Richie Tozier, officially or unofficially, and would never wish to be the subject of a tweet. That didn’t change the fact that the tweet wasn’t funny.

“That’s kind of misogynistic, isn’t it?” Eddie said, mostly to fish for Harriet’s participation.

“It’s satire,” Joshua said, because he didn’t understand what satire meant.

Harriet wrinkled her nose. “Is he like that in real life?”

“It’s satire!” Joshua repeated.

“Grow up, Joshua, he doesn’t write his own tweets,” Eddie snapped. “Can we focus, please? If we could finish this by the end of the week—”

Joshua cut him off, pointing at his laptop screen, which was miraculously open to a spreadsheet. “Wait, dick pills was gonna pay him _how_ much?”

“We are not recommending our client advertise erectile dysfunction pills,” Harriett said in a clipped tone.

“Why not? It would be hilarious.”

Eddie paused in typing a passive-aggressive email to Valerie, trying to sound impartial while complaining about her watering down Richie’s jokes. He looked at Joshua. “You don’t think it would make Richie seem old?”

“Uh.” Joshua’s forehead creased. “Not unless the ad puts him in a rocking chair. Come on, think about it. Richie Tozier has so much sex he needs dick pills to keep himself going! That’s a riot.”

Joshua thought a lot of things were a riot, including graphic sex jokes and Seth McFarlane. He was smack dab in the center of Richie’s target demographic.

Harriet pinched the bridge of her nose. “They’re not called dick pills.”

“You don’t feel like that’s selling out?” Eddie asked Joshua. “Like he’s desperately clinging to a flagging career?”

“No, what? Isn’t his newest tour sold out months in advance? He’s killing it.” He kicked his feet up onto the desk, tucking his hands behind his head. “And get with the times, old man. Instagram turned every celebrity into a sell out. Kardashians and their fucking hair gummies…”

“What about them?” Harriett smacked Joshua’s feet off the desk with a folder. “You thirst-follow every single one of them.” 

They started up an argument that Eddie tuned out, partially because he hated that he knew what ‘thirst-follow’ meant thanks to Richie, but mostly because Joshua had been useful for once.

Eddie had work to do.

The next week, Eddie was focused solely on wrapping up the loose ends on Richie’s account. He’d reached out to a few companies to gauge their continued interest, double checked everything Harriet sent him, and made Harriet sift through everything Joshua submitted with a fine-toothed comb. 

He even stayed late a few nights, like he used to all the time when he was married and avoiding Myra. 

Richie called a few times to complain, because Eddie flat-out refused to have phone sex at work. Richie was welcome to do whatever he wanted, but there was no way Eddie was jerking it at the office, even if he was the only one left.

“Why are you always working?” Richie whined one night.

Eddie had closed his office door; Harriet was the last one out a half hour ago, so he had Richie on speaker phone to avoid a crick in his neck using his shoulder to hold the phone.

“Because you gave me a bunch of work to do,” Eddie said flatly. “I feel like I warned you about that before agreeing to this job.”

“Can’t you work from home?” he asked. “Everything’s on the computer, right?”

“I don’t have the programs on my personal laptop anymore. I deleted them all after the divorce to make room on my hard drive for The Sims 4.”

There was a beat of silence. “You—you’ve never heard of Minecraft or Fortnite, but you play The Sims?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I’ve been playing since the first one, Richie. It’s a twenty year old franchise.”

“You woohoo in a bush?” 

“I woohooed everywhere,” he said. “With any number of gentleman suitors.”

“Ooh, got some practice picking up strangers? And you said you’d never done it before.”

Eddie ignored him. “And it’s not like I had a TV to play games on—”

“Then buy a TV,” Richie interrupted loudly.

“I’ll get to it,” he said absently. “I have this high-maintenance client taking up all my time right now…”

“Sounds like an asshole.”

“Oh, he’s the worst. Calls me at all hours of the night, flirts with me at the drop of a hat, steals my jokes.”

Richie paused again.

Shit, why was he bringing this up? Richie had already offered to delete it, but Eddie said it was fine. And he’d meant it.

“I’ll delete that tweet, babe,” Richie told him.

“No, forget it, it’s fine,” Eddie insisted. “Honestly, if it had been funny, I wouldn’t have said anything—”

“But you are saying something.” When Eddie didn’t reply, he went on, “I didn’t know Valerie was gonna take it and run with it, okay? It’s not like she turns every stupid thing I say into a tweet.”

“You know I can tell which tweets are yours and which ones someone wrote for you?” Eddie said abruptly. “Yours are actually funny.”

“Are you seriously just mad because it wasn’t funny?”

“I’m not mad. But yeah.”

He sighed. “You sound like Kiki.”

“How so?”

“She keeps saying I should write my own stuff.”

“And I keep telling you she’s a very smart young woman.”

“Is that all your report’s gonna say? ‘Kiki’s smart. Richie should write. Money please!’”

Eddie smiled. “That’s exactly it. See? You’re smart, too.”

He leaned his head on his hand and looked at his phone as though he’d be able to see Richie’s smug face.

The last few weeks, Eddie had experienced something of a constant, irritating prodding in his side whenever people described the essence of Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier, because it was nothing more than an unfunny, hollow imitation of who Richie actually was. While obviously the truth didn’t matter when you were a celebrity, it still ate at him. Because Eddie had spent so long pretending to be someone else in his marriage, and it fucking sucked. Richie didn’t deserve that.

“Are you happy?” Eddie asked. 

“Uh, yeah,” Richie said. “Are you?”

“Sure,” he replied by rote.

Richie laughed. “Don’t get too excited there, cowboy. Somebody might think you mean it.”

“I do.”

The realization almost startled him.

When Myra would call while he was working late, Eddie would be a snappish dick because the whole reason he was staying back was to avoid her. Now Richie was talking to him, and he never wanted to hang up.

Eddie hadn’t put this much effort into an account since he’d started seeing Richie. Or since his divorce. Or the months leading up to his divorce, even. 

The problem wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy what he did, it was that he’d been with this company in particular for eight years, and doing the same job, more or less, since he’d graduated college. And the prospect of continuing on this path for the next twenty five or so years until retirement drained the will to live from him. 

He didn’t know why. He’d been fine with the idea when he was with Myra. 

Well, he’d been _resigned_ to it.

Eddie hadn’t recognized the difference between resigned, fine, and happy until… he started being happy. 

“You know, I’d be happier if you were at home,” Richie continued. “Facetiming me you so I could see your beautiful face—”

“Shut up,” Eddie scoffed. They’d only known each other three months, but the way they instinctively carved out a groove for the other in their lives made it feel like so much longer. 

“Come on, it’s gotta be past seven over there. You don’t need to be burning the midnight oil for this asshole client—”

He laughed, rubbing a hand over his face. The reminder that he could be in bed seeing Richie made his perfectly ergonomic desk chair abruptly uncomfortable, his computer screen all too bright as his office lost light around him.

“If you don’t mind me pawning off this stuff to Joshua tomorrow, I guess I can leave now.”

“Why would I mind?”

“Because I trust him about as far as I could throw him.”

“Well I have all the confidence in the world in that young man,” Richie said breezily. “I’m gonna finish up here, and by the time you get home, I’ll have the whole night for you!”

He smiled. “Okay. Talk to you soon.”

“Hugs and kisses!”

As a consummate professional, Richie claimed to end calls with many different people like that.

One last late night, and it was finally done. 

Eddie sent his firm’s recommendations to Richie’s people, and now he’d never need to hear about how a person was a brand, and their brand was their identity, and that identity had to be relatable to be profitable, ever, ever again.

The next morning, Harriet stuck her head into Eddie’s office as he was returning to everything he’d neglected while working on Richie’s stuff.

“Any response on the Tozier account?” she asked, as if she hadn’t been CC’d on the email Eddie had sent and would be included in any replies.

“Not yet.”

Eddie had been worried when Richie hadn’t brought it up last night, until he remembered Richie didn’t read emails.

She crossed her arms. “They’re gonna laugh in our fucking face.”

“Good, he’s a comedian.”

“That’s not—”

Eddie’s desk phone rang. He saw the caller ID and sighed.

“Who is it?” Harriet took a step inside his office. “Is it them?”

“It’s one of them,” Eddie said as he picked up the phone. “Edward Kasprak speaking.”

“Eddie!” Richie greeted. Eddie could hear chatter in the background. “How’s my favourite risk analyst today?”

“You sound like a tool, what do you want?”

Harriet glared at him. “You can’t call our clients a tool!”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Pardon me, Mr. Tozier—what can I do for you today?”

Richie hummed in the way that would be a dirty joke if he were alone, which was exactly why Eddie wasn’t in the habit of calling him Mr. Tozier to his face. 

He managed a semi-professional reply instead. “Kiki’s muttering your name under her breath like she’s trying to curse you, what’d you do?”

“I CC’d you in the email.” 

“That’s why she’s mad?”

“No, I’m telling you to read the report attached to the email, you ding—Mr. Tozier,” he corrected himself when Harriet sent him another look. “It thoroughly explains our various recommendations and reasonings.”

“Okay, but which part is Kiki freaking out about?”

“Page four, section B.”

From the doorway, Harriet rolled her eyes

Eddie covered the receiver. “You can leave, you know. I’ll update you later.”

“What’s he saying?”

“He’s saying you should leave me alone.”

An excited burst of sound came through the phone, presumably after Richie read the email. Or had it summarized to him. 

“You’re recommending the dick pill ad deal?” Disbelieving laughter bubbled in Richie’s voice.

Eddie bit the inside of his cheek to hold back a small smile. “Writing credit? It’s a no-brainer, it shouldn’t have been turned down in the first place.”

He covered the receiver again and said to Harriet, “He likes it.”

She scoffed, asking, “And the important people?”

In the background, Eddie heard Kiki complain, “It’s indicative of a failing career!”

“Not if we lean into it!” Richie called back, as Eddie had thoroughly defended in his report. He returned to the call, saying, “She’s trying to talk Steve out of it, but he’s into these numbers. And I think he’s looking forward to me acting like I can’t get it up.”

“His manager likes it, too,” Eddie added to Harriet, who grimaced and left, mercifully shutting the door behind her.

“Oh my god, this is really happening,” Richie laughed.

“It just makes sense,” Eddie said, leaning back in his chair. “Dicks are exactly your brand; it’s self-referential, you’re not taking yourself too seriously, and it’s not like you’re pretending to be a young man anymore—”

“I’ll take the negging because this is gonna be fucking hilarious. One sec.” The background noise faded before stopping completely. “Baby, you did this for me?”

Eddie ducked his head, willing down the blush from the softness of Richie’s words. “It’s what you wanted, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You told me to look out for you.” He fiddled with a paperclip on his desk. “And it was a good idea, you just need to stand up for yourself. It’s your life, you should do what you want.”

His voice turned wistful. “I want—I wanna hold you so bad, Eds.”

He swallowed hard. “Richie—”

“I know, I know. We’ll talk later, okay?” He was breathless. “Tonight.”

“Yeah, we will.”

He could hear his grin. “You’re the best risk analyst a boy could ask for, babe.”

“I’ll take my tip in an orgasm, thanks.”

“Just the tip?”

“Get back to Kiki!”

Normally at this point, after sending his recommendations, Eddie was out of the picture and onto the next thing, but this time Richie was keeping him fully updated. Despite Eddie’s note about reaching out to the company, Kiki was still hoping that dick pills had moved on. They had not, and were in fact ready to start negotiations, following by filming, as soon as humanly possible. Which was for the best, since Richie’s tour was kicking off in a few months, and he didn’t want to juggle both projects at the same time. 

Right as Richie started to get busy, he convinced Eddie to take a Friday off to relax after working so hard on his account.

“You deserve a break, babe,” Richie had said. “I bet you’ve got stacks of unused vacation days.”

He did, in fact, have a sizeable amount of vacation days available. And Richie wouldn’t shut up about how it was healthy to take a day off every once in a while, so Eddie gave in.

He ended up just getting a headstart on his weekend cleaning routine, which he was very much enjoying until his intercom buzzed. 

It was for some kind of delivery, which he had no recollection of ordering, but somebody else ended up letting them in, even though there were signs all over the building saying not to let strangers in.

He had just enough time to pull off his rubber gloves and wash his hands before there was a knock on his door. Two delivery men with big cardboard boxes on dollies waited in the hallway.

“TV and stand for Eddie Kasprak,” one of them announced.

“I didn’t order anything.” For a moment, he was gripped by the fear of some weird identity theft ploy.

The guy looked at the clipboard in his hand and rattled off Eddie’s address. Then he said, “Credit card on file is under R Tozier? You forget you were getting a gift?”

Eddie’s eyes bulged. “Yeah, I guess.” He opened his door further. “Come on in.”

When they started unpacking everything and Eddie tried to stop them because he could do it, they said that a set-up fee had already been covered. So Eddie stood awkwardly in his apartment while two strangers put together the TV stand and hooked an enormous flat screen onto it.

On a stand, not hooked onto the wall, because Eddie had told Richie he was worried it would rip out of the plaster and at worst flatten him, at best ruin any chance of getting his security deposit back.

Eddie was still trying to decide how to feel once they left and he hooked up his Xbox to the TV. He loaded a game, and the graphics on the main menu looked so good he could cry.

He called Richie.

“Go for Trashmouth,” he answered after a few rings.

“Are you busy?” Eddie asked, because his standard greeting for Eddie was something much more personable. Possibly perverted. Maybe he was in a meeting? Then Eddie decided he didn’t care. “Did you buy me a fucking TV?”

“Yeah,” he said, casual as anything. Eddie heard him say ‘gimme a sec’ to someone on the other end and took a moment before continuing, presumably as he found somewhere private. “You wouldn’t let me tip you.”

“A TV is not a tip, Richie. It’s a TV!”

“You don’t like it?”

“Of course I fucking like it. It’s a TV!”

“You’re welcome.”

Eddie sighed. “Rich—”

“What? I have more money than I know what to do with. I can’t send my favourite risk analyst a present?”

Eddie scratched the back of his head, twisting to stare at the 4K Ultra HD screen of his dreams. Weakly, he said, “I can buy my own TV.”

“I know you can. But you haven’t, even though you’ve been talking about it for three months. And honestly? I was getting real depressed thinking how you didn’t have a TV in your sad little divorcee nest.”

“Don’t call it that.”

“That’s what it used to be, without a TV. Now it’s a rocking bachelor pad—you can invite people over, have a party, Netflix and chill to your heart’s content.”

He flushed. “I don’t—”

He stopped himself. He wasn’t seeing anybody other than Richie, had absolutely no inclination to (When would he even find the time? He was always talking to Richie). But obviously they weren’t exclusive. They lived across the country from each other. Richie was an actor in LA for fuck’s sake. He was probably hooking up with all sorts of guys out there.

“Speaking _of…”_ Richie said, tone fluctuating wildly in that one word. “I was thinking I’d be in New York again in a month or so?”

“For what?”

“A little break, between dick pills and the tour,” he replied. “And I’ve got a friend out there, he just got a new TV…”

It took Eddie a moment before he said dumbly, “Me? You wanna come just to visit _me?”_

“If uh… if you want.” He suddenly sounded uncertain. “I don’t have to stay over, I can book a hotel again—”

“No, why would you—” Eddie looked around his apartment, trying to see it through fresh eyes. “God, I haven’t had a single visitor here since I moved in.”

“That’s depressing. I bet you don’t even have decorations.”

He did. If carefully-chosen curtains and a wall calendar to keep track of his doctor’s appointments counted as decorations. He just wasn’t sure how long he was staying here, and didn’t want to have to pack up too much if he moved somewhere better.

“Except for La Tour de Papière de Toilette I guess,” Richie added teasingly. He’d unfortunately seen Eddie’s stack of toilet paper in the background during one of their video chats.

“Does _your_ place have decorations?” Eddie snapped.

“Yes. An interior designer decked the place out when I moved in, including a very nice dick statue.”

“Pardon?”

“He insisted it wasn’t phallic, but we both knew better.”

“Feel like you might be projecting.”

“I will send you a picture of the dick statue!” He quieted when another voice came through the line. “I gotta go. Think about my idea, okay? Hugs and kisses!”

And then it was just Eddie and his massive TV. 

He did not go back to cleaning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: In case you forgot, back in chapter two there was a mention about Eddie buying too much toilet paper--it's not at all a reference to the current state of the world lol. This is set in 2017 ish I guess (also why they're using Skype and not Teams).  
> Again, I'm [@doeeyeskasprak](https://twitter.com/doeeyeskasprak) over on Twitter, come say hi.  
> Anyway, there will be more Eddie's office stuff next chapter, as well as a return to some smut. Lemme know how you liked this chapter!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks as always for all your feedback! I try to post every weekend, but like I mentioned on Twitter something came up, so this chapter's a bit late. I should be able to still post this weekend though.  
> It's almost 1AM, well past when I usually post, so if there are typos/errors, let me know and I'll fix them. I'm tired.  
> Just FYI, there's a bit of an outing situation in this chapter, but it's not a big awful ordeal. Also, unrelated, Eddie talks about himself bottoming (I've seen people mention they have gender dysphoria about that so just giving the heads up).

So now Richie was the busy one, in meetings with the dick pill people, and tour people, and brainstorming jokes about erections that would somehow be appropriate for a national ad campaign.

They were down to almost strictly texting for a few weeks after they finished working together, which was fine, mostly. It made Eddie’s job even more insufferable in comparison, was all.

Eddie slipped out his phone during a company ‘value and ethics’ Skype seminar in the boardroom when he felt a text come through.

Richie: _I haven’t written my own jokes in forever, I think I forgot how_ 😬

Eddie frowned down at his phone. He was beyond grateful for the distraction, but didn’t understand the message. He replied from under the table.

Eddie: _You joke every single day of your life. Most of them are dick jokes. How is this any different?_

Richie: _Because I’ll be on camera and paid for it_

Eddie: _I wanna say that’s your job, am I somehow misunderstanding that?_

Richie: :( _you’re supposed to say I’m gonna do great_

Eddie: _Am I not saying that??_

Richie: _Not in words_

“Now,” the seminar host said peppily on the screen. “What is one of our company’s core values that resonates with you as an individual?”

“Diligence and discipline,” Eddie replied, before the obligatory thirty-second long pause while everyone waited for someone else to answer so they didn’t have to.

“Good!” the host said, congratulating him for regurgitating whatever the company was paying her to teach them. “Anybody else?”

Eddie went back to his phone.

Richie: _Whatever, it’s fine. I’ve got a script, but they said I should schooze it up_

_Shuuz?_

_Jhouzz?_

Eddie: _Are you trying to spell jizz?_

Richie: _STOP BEING FUNNIER THAN ME_

_Seriously I don’t know if I can do this, the script is NOT funny_

Eddie: _Richie, breathe_

_That’s why they wanted you. To make it funny. Your people turned them down two months ago and they’ve been spinning their wheels since then because they didn’t know what to do without you._

_I promise you you’re gonna kill this. Because you’re smart and you’re funny—funnier than all the shit people write for you_

Richie: 🥺🥰💦 _You know what, you’re right_ 😤 _I’m funny, my meat is huge, and my jokes for this dick pill commercial are gonna be better than ever_

Eddie: _… I never said your meat was huge_

Richie: _But you were thinking it_ 😏😏😏

Eddie: _You’re the only one who’s constantly thinking about your dick, Rich_

Richie: _Really_ 🤔 _because I have an album full of your dick pics that suggest otherwise_

Eddie: _I’m blocking this number_

“Now, I want you to split into groups,” the host started. 

Eddie: _Wait scratch that. Save me from “learning” anything in this fucking propaganda meeting_

Richie: _Class Clown Richie, at your service!_ 🤪 _No learning on my watch_ 😤

Eddie: _What would I do without you_

Richie: _Jerk off to The Sims?_

Eddie: _Nevermind go fuck yourself_

Richie: 🤪🍆💦

A few days later, Eddie had made himself a coffee in the lunchroom and was trying to travel across the office unperturbed, but Joshua singlehandedly made that impossible.

Joshua shot up from his chair as Eddie passed his desk.

He waved his phone in Eddie’s face. “Okay, so I know you hated all those other Vines, but check out this one—”

Eddie kept his head down and raced past his outstretched hand. 

“Joshua, if I have to remind you one more time to not waste my time—” It was a full sentence.

Eddie slammed his office door in Joshua’s face. 

And he got right back to his text conversation with Richie. He sat down at his desk, eyes glued to his phone.

Richie: _Hey I was thinking, you can cast straight from your laptop to your new TV, so when we Facetime you can watch me masturbating up on the big screen!_

Eddie: 😒 _yeah, honestly, thanks for this gift_

Richie: 😉

_I’m trying to nail down when I’ll be able to get to NY. Do you have any days next month that won’t work for you?_

Eddie had, obviously, agreed that Richie should visit. He’d been cleaning more in anticipation of another human being in his apartment, despite the fact that Richie wouldn’t be coming for weeks.

He’d also been looking at getting new bedsheets. None of the sets he owned seemed lavish enough to have weekend-long sex on.

Also, a less fun concept kept rounding back to him.

Eddie: _I should be free whenever. I’ll check my calendar_

Richie: _I’m sure it’s bursting to the seams, I hope you can fit me in_

Eddie: _Oh I’ll fit you in…_ 🍆🍑

Richie: 😍 _God don’t get me hot I’m at work_

Eddie: _Never stopped you before_

Richie: _I’m trying to behave_

Eddie: _First time for everything I guess_

Richie: _Baby you know I can be good for you_

He released a long breath. He could point out that that response didn’t quite qualify as ‘behaving’ if they were trying not to rile each other up at work. He could also decide it wasn’t worth it and get Richie to lock himself in a bathroom with his hand down his pants in… four to five more texts.

But Eddie couldn’t get rid of the annoying question that kept bouncing back to him. 

He bit his lip, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. Richie’s advice of _‘Just be annoying about it, I don’t care’_ flitted through his head.

Eddie: _What about anybody else?_

_I just mean_

_Have you had sex with anyone else since we saw each other?_

_Just because if so_

_You know…_

_An STI test?_

Richie: _Fuck a double text, gimme that sweet sweet sextuple text!_

Eddie: _?_

Richie: _No, baby_

_As much as I’d love to be getting dicked up and down all around tinsel town, it’s a little tough for a closeted forty year old comedian who jokes about pussy all day to get good dick around here_

_Plus I’m too busy jerking off to you_

Eddie always tried not to be charmed by this man, but his best attempts fell flat every time.

Eddie: _Okay good. Me too_

_Let me know which weekend, okay? I’ll try to plan some outings so we’re not stuck in my apartment the whole time_

_If you want_

Richie: _If by outings you mean dates, then I’d love to!!_

So Richie wanted dates. Did that mean they were dating? No. You could go on dates without dating. Eddie had taken one or two girls out in college before Myra found him. Nobody would have claimed he was dating them. Just like he wasn’t dating Richie Tozier.

Even though apparently they were exclusive. But that was a coincidence. Eddie just didn’t want to hook up with strangers, and Richie didn’t have the opportunities Eddie had assumed he had.

It was just convenience. Having a long-distance fuck buddy.

Damnit, he’d expected the most stressful part of this conversation to be the STI test question.

Eddie shot off a quick, _I’ll definitely plan something then!_

And then he set his phone down and dove into his work to distract himself from thoughts of unwanted commitment.

There was definitely something to be said for straight-up phone sex, the mystery of what was going on on the other end, needing to describe everything in filthy detail, Richie’s heaving breathing in Eddie’s ear. 

But sometimes they wanted the visual, and video chatting was the way to go. Especially when Eddie took Richie’s suggestion and cast him right to his TV. It was absolutely ridiculous, and Eddie wasn’t sure if he was gonna do this for video sex again, but they hadn’t had the time to do more than send a few quick dick pics in weeks. He could go a little over the top just this once.

Up on the big screen, Richie lounged on his bed, down to just his boxers. Laying on his stomach, his head rested on his hand as he trailed his fingers leisurely through his chest hair. Richie had told Eddie to just sit back, relax, and listen to his voice.

Eddie’s eyes kept darting down to the clear tenting in Richie’s boxers.

Richie’s eyes were glued to Eddie’s hard dick as Eddie stroked it. He was on the couch, his laptop sitting on a stack of books on the coffee table to give him a better camera angle.

“That’s it, baby,” Richie hummed. “You look so good touching yourself for me.”

Eddie’s breath hitched. Richie had been teasing him for almost half an hour before he told Eddie to wrap his fingers around his dick. And even now it was supposed to be loose, slow—enough to offer some modicum of relief but not near enough.

“It could _feel_ better,” Eddie hinted.

He raised a brow. “Yeah? If I were there? If I was sitting in your lap, jerking you off in my fist?”

“Mm, I miss your fingers,” Eddie moaned, tilting his head back on the couch. “Miss you touching me.”

“Pinch your nipple for me.”

Eddie did so, and it sent pleasure jerking through him. 

“God, I wanna taste you,” Richie said roughly.

His hand was finally sneaking under the waistband of his boxers. 

“Richie, let me see,” Eddie said, squirming on the couch. 

“Hm? Oh, you wanna see Little Richie?”

He bit down on a smile. “Shut up and show me your cock.”

He pulled himself out, but the camera angle was bad. They teased and argued for a minute until Richie was kneeling, and he had the laptop positioned so that Eddie’s TV screen image was the middle of his stomach to his hairy upper thighs, the focal point being Richie tugging at his hard cock.

Eddie moaned, mouth watering.

“You like that?” Richie’s voice came from off-screen. 

“Uh huh,” Eddie gasped as his hand sped up of its own accord.

“What do you wanna do to it?” His hand dropped down to his balls, leaving his long shaft on full display.

“Want it in my mouth.”

“Yeah, I know how much you like taking me, baby. Hungry for it, aren’t you?”

Eddie groaned, closing his eyes. “I’m fucking starving for it, Rich.”

“Shit,” he hissed. Eddie heard rather than saw the slick slide as Richie wrapped his hand back around himself. “God, the things I’m gonna get to do to you the next time I see you…”

Pure heat spilled through Eddie’s chest, and he turned back to the TV. To Richie’s cock, red and glistening.

“You gonna fuck me?” Eddie asked, voice hitching.

Richie made some choked sound, and he adjusted his set-up so his face was back in frame. His pupils were huge. He licked his lips. “You want me to fuck you, Eds?”

He nodded, for a moment completely incapable of speech. “Wanna feel you. Want you to fuck me so hard I can’t breathe.”

“Oh shit, yeah. Gonna spread you open on my fingers until you’re begging for it—”

“’M not gonna beg,” Eddie interrupted.

He chuckled. “We’ll see about that. I’m gonna make you feel so good. Gonna hold you down on the mattress—”

“Yeah—”

“—your ass’ll squeeze around my cock so good.”

“Uh huh.”

“Take me like you were made for it, just like your mouth does. I’ll fuck you hard and deep, think you’ll like that?”

“ _Oh.”_ He was still staring at Richie’s hard dick on the screen. “God, I wanna sit on it.”

“Fuck, you will. You think I won’t let you use my cock however you want?”

“Fuck!” Eddie came with a start across his hand, his chest, a few drops landing on the towel he’d laid down on the couch.

“Wanna lick all that off you,” Richie said.

Eddie smiled, boneless and satisfied, as he watched Richie jerk off. Still catching his breath, he took the metaphorical baton and went in on Richie. “Oh, I know you do. And I’ll let you. Because you’re gonna fuck me so good, gonna fill me right up. Fuck your fist like you’re gonna fuck me, Richie, I wanna see it.”

Richie groaned with a grin, and Eddie smiled right back, gave him everything he needed until he came across his duvet.

“Send my apologies to your maid,” Eddie said dryly.

He huffed a laugh, bare chest shining with sweat. “Ah, she’ll just be relieved I don’t actually need those dick pills. She’s one of those all-natural wellness essential oil types, you know?”

He leaned forward with a smirk. “And aren’t I lucky you can come this often all on your own?”

He sniffed a jizz-covered finger curiously before licking it off, shooting him a wink. “And here I am thinking I’m the one who’s lucky.”

“You’re so gross,” Eddie replied with infinite fondness.

“Only for you, babe!

Having no explicable reason to talk to Richie on the phone at work made his days even more dull. So Eddie’s lunches maybe always ran long whenever Richie had the time to call him. 

And he hadn’t been free a lot lately. He’d started shooting the commercials, which meant Richie entrusted Kiki to keep his phone on her while he was filming to keep him on task. Eddie thought it was kind of overkill, but then he considered how often Richie texted straight through meetings and decided it wasn’t the worst idea.

“If you weren’t texting me all the time, I wouldn’t get so distracted,” Richie was saying. The cast was ‘taking five’ while the crew fixed some lighting problem. It was coming up on an hour.

Eddie was finishing up his lunch in the outdoor plaza area between buildings where people smoked. He’d staked out his usual cement bench as far away from them as possible.

“You always text me first.” Eddie sipped the last dredges of his coffee in the afternoon sun. “And shouldn’t you have enough self-control to focus on work without giving your phone away?”

“Yeah, good point. How long is your lunch break supposed to be, again?”

“Hey, if I was on a film set, I think I could rustle up some interest for my job, dickwad.”

“Then do it. Move out here, I’m sure I could score that pretty face a few bit parts.”

Eddie scoffed and changed the subject. “When you’re visiting, do you wanna see any shows?”

“Sure! Nothing that has, like, rave reviews, though. I miss all the borderline unwatchable performances from when I was back in college.” Eddie heard the not-so-distant sound of a straw sucking at the bottom of a cup. Richie finished with, “Try for embarrassing, but with a lot of heart.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Something indie and weird, got it. Harriet’s been talking up some experimental shit her roommate’s in. I’ll see about getting tickets.”

He’d told her there was no way he was going to whatever she’d described to him so many times already, but if Richie wanted unwatchable, Eddie would get him unwatchable.

They talked for a few more minutes before they needed Richie on set again.

“Now remember, Kiki’s gonna have my phone until the end of the shoot, so don’t go sending me any dick pics,” Richie warned him.

“I’ll try to control myself,” Eddie said dryly. “Though I would hope and pray you have your notifications set not to show the message, considering the massive amount of inappropriate texts we send.”

“You know I had to ask Kiki how to change that setting?”

“And you call _me_ an old man!” Eddie said incredulously. 

“Yeah, I had to explain to you like five times what a meme was.”

“Shut up, I have to get back to work.”

“Oh, so _now_ he has a work ethic.” He could hear Richie’s eye roll. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Yeah, maybe try to call me when I’m home?” They hadn’t had time for a call longer than this in a week. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, baby.” The warmth in his voice made Eddie blush. 

They signed off and Eddie stood to go back into the building, but startled when he found Joshua a few scant feet away sucking on a vape pen.

Eddie maybe would’ve assumed Joshua hadn’t been paying attention if he weren’t looking right at him, smiling through the cotton candy-scented smoke floating around him.

“So that’s why you’ve been so happy lately,” Joshua said. “Got yourself a lady love!”

“That was a man,” Eddie snapped, for no sensible reason.

Joshua’s eyebrows rose. 

Shit.

Eddie had a horrifying flashback to every insult he’d ever lobbed at Joshua, followed by the sudden realization that maybe he shouldn’t have purposely antagonized him at every possible opportunity, giving Joshua the perfect reason to get back at him now.

He braced himself, but Joshua just nodded contemplatively.

“A bro love?” Joshua asked, as annoying as ever, but with none of the disdain Eddie had come to associate with dude bros. “Is that why you got divorced?”

Eddie’s gaped incredulously, but it was his fault for replying in the first place, wasn’t it? 

“That’s really brave of you, man, leaving your wife for a dude—”

“That’s _not_ what happened,” Eddie bit out.

“Did she kick you out? She always seemed like a bit of a b-word—”

“No!” 

What possessed Eddie to always correct idiots? He glared at Joshua with an intensity to make stronger men flinch, but Joshua was too stupid to pick up on the intent.

Eddie gathered himself, saying, “It’s none of your business. It’s inappropriate to even be asking me these questions—”

“Alright, okay.” He waved off his anger, sucking on his vape again. “Whatever happened, it’s super cool. Love is love, bro.”

His heart rate rocketed skyward as he stomped past him back to their building. “Shut the fuck up, Joshua.”

When Joshua didn’t blab the second he came from his smoke break, Eddie kind of forgot about the interaction all together. He figured Joshua either had the good sense to stay quiet, or his weed-addled brain had already filtered out Eddie’s sexuality as not worth keeping.

At least until later that week while they were waiting for a Skype meeting to start—and by that, he meant getting the youngest person in the room figure out how to properly call into the meeting.

Richie texted Eddie some joke that made him smile, and he sent off a quick response. He wasn’t trying to hide his texting; half his coworkers around the table were on their phones while they waited.

But when Joshua spoke, Eddie wished he’d been a little more discreet. 

“So are you bringing your new beaux to the company picnic, Eddie?”

Eddie froze, rewinding the words in his head, hoping they’d change, and when they didn’t, he waited for the world to crumble around him.

“Beaux means a man, idiot,” said Fiona, the intern tasked with connecting the laptop to the TV for their meeting.

“I know,” Joshua replied, not at all offended at being insulted in front of half the office. At least he was a good sport about being a dumbass. “Eddie’s got a boyfriend.”

“He’s not—” Eddie snapped out the words before he knew where to take them.

What did he want to correct about that statement? That Richie wasn’t his boyfriend? Did saying that imply he wasn’t gay? He didn’t want that. He didn’t want them knowing about his personal life either, especially not the nitty-gritty details of an ill-defined, but exclusive, long-distance relationship that started as a one-night stand. 

“Oh, sorry, is it more casual?” Joshua asked. 

Eddie’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling.

Lisa from accounting glanced away from drawing spirals in her notebook. “I thought you had a wife?”

“I am divorced.” Eddie over-enunciated each syllable without turning his glare away from Joshua.

If there were a way to be assumed neither gay or straight, or bi or anything, he’d do that; it was none of their business. But that wasn’t really how this worked. It was straight until proven otherwise, and Eddie did _not_ want to give the impression he was straight.

It was the exact reason he’d corrected Joshua’s original assumption he’d been talking to a woman in the first place.

“And the man I’m seeing is none of your business,” Eddie told Joshua in a clipped tone.

Sure, Eddie’s cheeks were on fire, and sure, he could hear his heart pounding in his ears in anticipation of a response much more negative than ‘love is love’. But he’d been through too much, worked too hard to accept this part of himself, to let people think he was straight.

Harriet finally looked up from her phone, first at Joshua and then flinching at the expression on Eddie’s face. She jerked straight up. “Joshua, mind your business or go back to your desk and mind the phones.”

Apparently Joshua did not want to mind the phones, because he shut up.

That’s when Fiona mercifully got the Skype meeting going, and they all had to get back to business.

It was almost the end of the day when Harriet walked into his office. Eddie did not have an open door policy, but that only stopped a handful of people from walking right the fuck in whenever they wanted.

“Can I help you?” Eddie snapped, smacking his cell phone onto his desk to hide the shirtless picture Richie had just sent him from set.

Harriet closed the door behind her. “Did I miss something, or did Joshua spill all your business without your consent in that meeting?”

Eddie’s eyes rolled so far back in his head he saw stars.

“So I did miss something?” she asked.

_“Harriet.”_

She was the last person Eddie expected to bring this up—even though, by all counts, he talked to her more than any other coworker. He still would barely call them acquaintances. 

“I’m just asking if he needs to be reported to HR,” she said.

Eddie stared at her blankly. “Why? Why are you asking me this?”

“I’m a lesbian,” she replied as though that was a sensible explanation.

“Uh huh?”

“So, like… solidarity?”

“Uh huh.”

She lifted her brows, like she was trying dig into his brain to pull out an explanation. 

“Unless… Joshua misunderstood something?”

“I’m gay, Harriet,” he said flatly. “I’m seeing a man in a long-distance relationship, so no, he won’t be coming to the company picnic. Did you wanna see the dick pic he sent me this morning?”

“No!”

“Then kindly see yourself out of my office.”

She turned for the door. “I’ll talk to Joshua.”

“You _absolutely_ don’t need to do that!”

But she was already gone.

“I… I think I came out at work today,” Eddie said, unsure of how to best describe what happened to him. 

His phone was perched on top of his microwave as he cut vegetables on the kitchen counter. 

Richie cocked his head on the screen. He was in the back of a car getting driven somewhere, with his earphones in. Eddie probably should’ve waited until he was alone to bring it up, but he didn’t know when they’d have the chance to talk next, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“What do you mean you _think?”_ Richie asked.

“I mean like—” Eddie waved his knife, and then set it down. “Remember that idiot who caught me talking to you the other day?”

“Joshua,” Richie said, because he’d dealt with most of the coworkers Eddie complained about.

“He asked if I was bringing you to the company picnic during a meeting.”

His brows furrowed. “Why would—did you tell them about me?”

“No. He just asked front of everybody.”

“Had you said—” His gaze flicked to the driver and he sighed, typing something out on the phone, giving Eddie a fantastic shot up his nostrils. 

Richie: _Had you came out already?_

“No. It was conjecture based on our phone conversation he overheard last week.”

“Dude, I think—sorry, wait, you know I can’t go to that picnic, right?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, going back to aggressively chopping carrots. “Yes, Richie. If I had the choice I wouldn’t be going, either.”

For a fleeting second, he imagined what it would be like to stroll up with Richie on his arm—not Richie Tozier the comedian, just Richie the man that Eddie was seeing. He could hide behind him the whole time, let Richie make small talk with his coworkers and spouses that he got paid to be polite to during the week, but on certain weekends of the year had to do it for free.

It wouldn’t be so bad with Richie.

“Okay, well, babe,” Richie said as he texted. 

Richie: _That sounds like you got /outed/ at work_

Eddie snapped his fingers. _“Outed._ That’s the word I was looking for.”

Richie stared at him. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Eddie nodded and moved onto chopping celery. “Harriet told him to shut up. She brought it up later when we were alone and I actually came out to her, and then I offered to show her a dick pic of yours to get her out of my office.”

“What?”

“She said she’s a lesbian. I figured it was a good bet she’d leave after that.”

“How do you still have a job,” Richie muttered, more of a judgement than a question.

“Our HR department is useless.” He looked up at him. “I wasn’t actually gonna show her! I’m sure she knows that.”

Richie snorted. “Hope so. Did you ask her about tickets for that show you were talking about?”

“Fuck, I forgot again. I’ll get them next week.” He continued chopping, but Richie was just looking at him. “What?”

“Seriously though. Are you alright?” Richie asked. Eddie shrugged at him, so he continued, “I mean, it wasn’t your choice. Isn’t the whole point of coming out that it’s on your terms?”

“Oh, Rich.” Eddie set his knife down with the realization that Richie was _worried_ for him. “Yeah, I’m alright. Our HR’s not the most helpful, but if somebody tries to hit me or something, they’re fired for sure. And workplace discrimination is illegal in New York, so I think I’m covered.”

“Yeah, but what about how you’re _feeling_?” 

“I’m feeling annoyed that we keep hiring idiots, but that’s not different from any other day.”

“You’re not, like, freaking out?” Richie’s incredulity was palpable.

Eddie tossed a carrot back, crunching it hard between his teeth as he took stock of himself. “I was for a second, when Joshua first brought it up. But then nobody started screaming or spitting at me or whatever so.” He shrugged. “I mean, god knows I was scared of anybody knowing I was into men for so long, but…” 

He turned back to Richie, who was chewing on the straw of his iced coffee. Eddie had kissed those lips. Drawn groans and gasps from those lips. Had his dick sucked by those lips. Probably more importantly, so many words had come from those lips that made Eddie feel better about himself than he’d ever been.

“Being out isn’t scary. Anymore,” Eddie finally said. Not at this point in his life. Not to coworkers he didn’t give a crap about. “I’m not gonna die, y’know? If someone knows I’m gay. It took me this long to be honest with myself, I’m not gonna pretend to be something else for other peoples’ comfort.”

“Wow.” Richie had this look on his face that Eddie might almost describe as awe. “That’s—really fucking incredible, dude.”

He ducked his head, suddenly flustered. “No it’s, it’s whatever.”

“No, c’mon. How long were you married for, and now you’re, like, living your truth—”

“Shut the fuck up, you sound like Joshua saying love is love.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s fucking trite.”

Richie pulled a face. “Maybe. Still nice though, isn’t it?” He looked down, adjusting his glasses. “I wish…”

He fiddled around on his phone again, before Eddie got the text, _I keep wanting to make gay jokes on set. I swear I’ve almost outed myself a dozen times_

“Yeah? Have you been rethinking not coming out, then?”

He shook his head. “I don’t wanna keep lying, but I can’t tell the truth.”

“It’s not lying. You’re protecting yourself.”

“I just wish it was easy.”

Eddie nodded, dumping his chopped vegetables into the crock pot as Richie typed out another text too personal to utter aloud in front of the driver.

Richie: _If I knew that everybody who mattered would be cool with it I’d come out today. But obviously plenty of people will hate it. So I can’t. The idea of being out is still so scary for me. It doesn’t feel like protecting myself, it feels like I’m a coward_

Richie picked up talking, “Because I see you going for it and—”

“I don’t have the whole world looking at me, Rich,” Eddie pointed out softly. His chest ached. He didn’t intend for his entirely accidental coming out to make Richie feel like shit.

“I mean, it’s not the _whole_ world. I’m not that famous,” he dismissed, staring out the window instead of the phone. 

“Hey, look at me?” Eddie asked.

Their eyes met, and Richie shook his head at the serious expression on Eddie’s face. “Forget it, man. I’m just tired—”

“I’ll forget it in a second, but let me say one more thing.”

He dropped his gaze again before dragging it back to Eddie. “Okay.” 

Eddie licked his lips nervously. He’d never been good at comforting people, but Richie wasn’t thinking about this situation the right way, and he needed to fix that. 

“I’m not any braver than you for being out at work, just like I wouldn’t be a coward if I was still pretending to be straight,” Eddie said. “Not announcing your personal private business to strangers doesn’t make you a coward, Richie. It’s more important that we’ve both finally stopped hating ourselves for being gay, because it’s, frankly, a little miraculous, and braver than I ever thought I’d be.”

Richie blinked a few times, and sent a flurry of heart emojis through text, as if Eddie couldn’t already see them in Richie’s shining eyes.

“Eds, I’m really glad I met you,” Richie said when he managed to stop looking on the verge of tears.

The emotion of his words pulsed through Eddie’s chest like an electric current. He wanted Richie in front of him so fucking bad.

But all he could reply with was a lame, “Yeah.”

Behind Richie, the buildings rushing past the car windows slowed to a stop. He wiped his eyes under his glasses and said, “Okay, I’ve got another very hetero meeting about dicks, I gotta go. Talk to you later.”

“Later, Richie.”

“Hey, Eds?” he said before they hung up.

“Hm?”

“Six more days.”

Eddie smiled. “See you soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell how much I hate office meetings??  
> Next chapter they'll be together again!! Idk how I'm gonna format those chapters, because the sex and pillow talk is like 6k all by itself somehow?? And then like 2k words on either side of that where they're just hanging out. I try to keep chapters around 4-5k, so I could split it in half, but I'd like to keep the sex and pillow talk together... idk, that's a decision for future me.  
> Lemme know how you liked this chapter!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for your feedback, I truly appreciate it! A few of you said you'd be cool with the long-ass chapter, and I thought about it, but decided the pacing would've been shit. So here's just the date part. And god willing, I'll be posting another chapter with the rest of their weekend tomorrow!  
> Big thanks to [@like_thetempest](https://twitter.com/like_thetempest) on Twitter for giving me an idea for the hat Eddie gives to Richie in this chapter!  
> If you too want to periodically help me brainstorm, I'm [@doeeyeskasprak](https://twitter.com/doeeyeskasprak) on Twitter.

Early Saturday morning, Eddie was trying to artfully cover his stack of toilet paper with an ugly tablecloth that he got in the divorce when his intercom buzzed. He raced to answer it.

“Special delivery for Mr. Kasprak,” Richie’s staticky voice came through the speaker.

Eddie fought his grin as he replied, “You didn’t call me that once when we were working together, but now you decide to be professional?”

“It’s such a big, long package,” Richie continued dramatically. “Please let me in so I can deliver it, sir.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, buzzing him up.

He gave his apartment one last look-over, not for cleanliness so much as ensuring his existence looked less pathetic than it actually was. He’d kept flip-flopping on whether he wanted them to stay here or a hotel—silently, to himself, because he knew if Richie sensed even a little bit of uncertainty about the arrangement, he’d book them a hotel. Because he didn’t want Eddie to be uncomfortable. Unfortunately, that was kind of Eddie’s default state. If he never did anything that made him uncomfortable, he’d have never have made it out of his mother’s house.

And there was nothing wrong with his apartment, or Richie being in it. It was just boring. Depressing, like Richie had accused it of being before the TV. He’d bought a tasteful rug for the living room area, and a new bedsheet set, but decorating was a lot harder in real life than in The Sims. What did real people put on their walls?

A knock on his door thankfully drew him out of his thoughts.

Richie’s clothes were wrinkly as always, though this time he had a plane ride to blame it on. He was gonna need a shower, but for now, Eddie pulled him through the door to bring his sparkling grin to his mouth. 

“Eddie,” Richie greeted happily against his lips as he cupped his face. His hands smelled like hand sanitizer.

“Rich.” Eddie wrapped his arms around him. 

Richie backed him up until Eddie bumped into the kitchen counter, and then grabbed his ass in two big handfuls. Eddie hopped onto the counter, hooking his legs around Richie’s waist to pull him impossibly closer.

They kissed like the only oxygen in the room was coming from each other’s mouths, because though phone sex could simulate many things—they could jerk off, and Richie could finger himself, and they could close their eyes and listen to each other’s moans—there was no substitute for kissing. 

After a good five minutes of making out on the kitchen counter, they managed to take a breather. 

He’d missed this. He missed Richie all the time. (How much longer was he gonna have to miss him?) He dismissed the thought before it got too far. 

“Nice place you got here,” Richie said, eyes still firmly on Eddie’s as he stood between his legs.

“Thanks,” Eddie panted. “I’ll give you the tour. This is the kitchen. There’s the bathroom.” He point to the closed door. “That’s my bed. And this is the TV a very sexy suitor of mine gifted to me.”

_ “Very _ sexy, huh?” He lifted a brow.

Eddie nodded, taking a moment to devour his mouth again. Richie’s hands slipped up his shirt, right where he wanted them.

“So, I considered making you breakfast,” Eddie said when he pulled away. “But then I thought we could go out and get something better than my cooking, but I figured we wouldn’t want to leave too soon, so—” He leaned over the counter and popped open the microwave, where a takeout bag from a cafe down the street was being kept warm. “I just picked up something.”

Richie’s grin grew against his cheek. “Thank you for taking me on that decision-making journey with you, Eds.”

“Shut up,” Eddie murmured, kissing behind him ear.

It took them a few minutes, but they eventually got settled on the couch with some freshly made coffee, and a egg muffin and donut for each of them.

“Gluten, Eds?” Richie asked as Eddie bit into his breakfast sandwich. “And do these have cheese on them, too? Walking on the wild side today.”

Eddie washed his food down with his coffee, two sugars. “I actually reached out to my doctor to check, and it turns out I picked up a lot of allergies from Myra. I’m just allergic to cashews, and have a lactose sensitivity, but I’ve been testing it, and I just shouldn’t eat a lot of it. I’ll be fine with a little cheese.”

But he wasn’t gonna chance any more than this; he  _ did _ intend to have Richie up his ass tonight. 

His brows rose, impressed. “Look at you, taking charge of your own dietary restrictions.”

They continued chatting while they ate, and even though they talked all the time, it was different with Richie in front of him. The energy he brought with him brightened Eddie’s whole apartment.

When they finished eating, Richie’s hand almost immediately found its way halfway up Eddie’s thigh. “Thank you for a delicious breakfast, babe. However will I repay you?”

“By taking a shower to get the airplane germs off you.”

“Join me?”

“I promise you my shower isn’t big enough for that.”

Richie didn’t seem to believe him, but he did get in to the shower all by himself, after Eddie pointed out the towels and told him to use whatever soap he wanted. 

Without Eddie to distract him, Richie’s normal showers were apparently pretty quick, because Eddie had barely cleaned up after breakfast and brought the day’s itinerary up on his phone before the water shut off.

Shortly after that, Richie strolled out naked except for the towel he was using to dry his hair.

Eddie stared at him flatly, not moving from his spot at the kitchen counter.

“Left my bag out here,” Richie said in way of explanation.

He was at half mast already, because of  _ course _ he was. Eddie’s pants were tightening too, watching him walk around his apartment like he owned the place. Like he belonged there. 

And pretending he didn’t know where he’d left his overnight bag.

“Gosh, is it here?” Richie bent over the couch, presenting his bare ass for display like he was asking for it. 

Because he was.

Eddie bit the inside of his cheek, but he stayed where he was. He was enjoying the show.

Richie looked over his shoulder at him as though he couldn’t believe his attempts at flirting hadn’t worked yet. “Little help, babe?”

“With what?” Eddie asked. 

“Um.” He blinked. “Sex?”

Eddie grinned, pushing away from the counter to advance on him. “Put the towel on the arm of the couch?”

Richie did so, and then Eddie turned him around and got him sitting on the towel before he sunk to his knees. He wasn’t about to miss a straight out of the shower blow job.

“Oh.” Richie looked down at Eddie kissing up his thigh.

“What?”

“Thought you were gonna play hard to get or something.”

Eddie chuckled against his dick. “Nah, Rich. All you ever have to do is ask.”

And then he blew him on the couch.

They hung around in his apartment for the while, until the phone alarm Eddie had set to remind him he’d planned things out in the big wide world went off. 

Richie had only managed to get dressed into a pair of cut-off sweatpants (“Really trying to impress me, huh?” “You’re not impressed enough by my my massive dong?”) so Eddie didn’t expect him to actually want to go out, but Richie poked his head into Eddie’s space on the couch to read his phone screen. 

“Oh, shit, you wrote it all down and everything.”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously?” Richie lifted a brow above his glasses. God, his eyes were almost mesmerizing in person. “Who is that obvious to?”

Eddie kissed him instead of responding, hands spanning the acres of his bare back. He swore Richie’s shoulders got bigger every time he saw him. 

“C’mon, take me somewhere,” Richie whined after a minute. “You put all this work into a schedule.”

“It’s not a schedule, it’s a suggestion.”

“Well, where do you  _ suggest _ we go first?”

So Richie got dressed, and Eddie brushed his teeth. 

When Richie put on his prescription sunglasses and his ‘I’m With Stupid’ baseball cap, Eddie grabbed a bag out of his closet and handed it to him. “Before we go, I got you something.”

Richie’s face lit up. “What is it?”

“A TV.”

Richie smacked him with the bag before pulling out a pastel pink baseball cap with a sequined purple narwhal on it. Harriet had bought a similar one for her eleven year-old niece, and Eddie had been delighted to find it was available in adult sizes. 

“I was thinking about getting you one that said too horny to function, but I was worried it would scar the children,” Eddie said. 

“So you got me something  _ for _ children?” Richie laughed. He threw the hat that was on his head across the room and replaced it with Eddie’s gift.

“It’s still got a horn on it,” he said. “So you can make your own jokes.”

Richie hooked an arm around Eddie’s neck for a hug. “I love it, babe, thank you. Now let’s go show the world my horny hat!”

They were out most of the day, stopping in record shops, and weird curio stores, and so many fucking boutiques, because Richie wanted to find something to help furnish Eddie’s apartment. 

They passed a mural with a raccoon on it that Richie made him pose next to for a picture because Eddie said it looked like Richie. A family was kind of staring at them as they did it, and Eddie got nervous for a dozen different reasons, but the mom just came over to ask where Richie got his hat, because her daughter was obsessed with narwhals. Richie waited in delight as Eddie was forced to make small talk until he could find the name of the Etsy shop he bought the hat from.

After that, they wandered into an art gallery and both tried their hardest to appreciate it, but mostly just stared in confusion.

“Actually, you know what,” Eddie said at one point. He gestured at a big dark oil canvas interspersed with stars and galaxies. “That would look nice in my apartment.”

“Are these for sale?”

“I don’t know. I just meant something  _ like _ that. I don’t know what to put on my walls. But that’s nice.”

Richie squinted at its description. “If it’s for sale, I’ll buy it for you.”

Eddie shook his head and grabbed him by the sleeve, dragging him away to some Andy Warhol-esque pop art bullshit. Richie liked that exhibit.

It was a lot of fun, being out with Richie. He took so many pictures, apparently to make up for the fact that nearly all of the pictures he had of Eddie so far were of his dick. He changed his background screen three different times over the course of the day until he settled on a selfie of the two of them eating churros that he had to convince Eddie to eat because he was inherently wary of street food. 

Richie promised to send Eddie all the pictures so he’d have them, too. Eddie started looking for picture frames after that. Pictures would be nice to hang on his wall, too.

They cut through a park on the way back to Eddie’s apartment. Eddie wanted to change into something nice before the show, an instinct Richie didn’t share, but Eddie planned to make him follow. 

The late afternoon sun sparkled off the water as they strolled lazily past a pond in the park. They hadn’t been holding hands, obviously, but they brushed against each other a lot, and now Richie slung an arm around his shoulders. He had his hat and sunglasses on, so maybe he figured no one would recognize him. Or maybe it was normal enough for two guys to walk around like this. Eddie really wouldn’t know.

“How’s it been going at work?” Richie asked. “After, like, coming out?”

“The same,” Eddie said. “Most of them are still too scared of me to ask me anything personal. Harriet made Joshua apologize to me, though, which was annoying.”

“Was he a dick about it?”

Eddie shrugged, nervously eyeing a pair of geese calmly floating in the water. “I mean, I guess not. He said his little brother’s gay so—he just got excited about showing how cool he is with the whole gay thing, I guess.”

Richie snorted. “Did he out his brother, too?” 

He shook his head. “He’s too dumb to hold any sort of malice, I can’t even be mad at him. For that, specifically. His work ethic, on the other hand…”

“So business as usual, then.”

“Yeah, it’s just—his brother’s twelve,” Eddie said. “Can you imagine being gay when you’re  _ twelve?” _

Spending your whole life knowing what you want. Or at least knowing there’s options other than what you’ve been ordered to want.

“And telling people?” Richie shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Did you know, when you were twelve?”

“I… don’t remember.” He adjusted his hat, squinting up at the sky. “That doesn’t seem like something you could forget, right?”

Eddie blew a gust of air past his lips. “You’re asking the wrong person, man.”

“Oh, yeah.” Richie smiled down at him. “You can’t remember fuck all, either.”

A toddler tore past them, screaming with freedom. Her mother chased after her a moment later.

“Not much…” Eddie trailed off. “What were your parents like?”

Richie didn’t talk about his family often—Eddie tried not to talk about his mom, either, but sometimes he needed somewhere to point the blame.

“Uh, good,” he said. “My dad had his own dental practice, and my mom helped out there and had her own job, so they were busy, but you know, they showed up to my little league games.”

“You played baseball?” Eddie asked incredulously.

“It’s an expression.”

“No it’s not.”

“Did  _ you _ play baseball?”

“No, my mom wouldn’t let me.”

“Then you wouldn’t know if it’s an expression.”

Eddie elbowed him in the ribs, and Richie let him out from under his arm. It had been getting sweaty, but Eddie still kind of wanted to get back in there. 

“Have they seen your shows?” Eddie asked him. He wondered if his parents would be able to tell, instinctively, that the jokes their son told on stage hadn’t been penned by his hand.

“Yeah,” he grinned. “My dad tells everyone he meets that he’s the father of  _ that _ Richie Tozier.”

_ “That _ Richie Tozier, who the world will soon know can’t get it up without pharmaceutical help.” 

Richie finger gunned him. “Is your new nickname Pharmaceutical?”

“If you start calling me that I will not let you fuck me,” Eddie said seriously.

He laughed like that was the funniest thing in the world. 

It was weird, Eddie never would’ve described himself as funny before meeting Richie. He still didn’t think he was funny, but at least Richie did. 

“Do your parents know your girlfriend is a figment of your imagination?”

Richie threw his arm back around his shoulders, and Eddie bit down on a smile. “Yeah, I had to break it to them when Mom kept asking to meet her. They haven’t asked when I’m gonna settle down in ages.”

“Do they know? That you’re…?”

“They might’ve guessed,” Richie replied uncertainly. “Or my sister might’ve told them. Either way, they haven’t said anything. I don’t see them that much anyway.”

“But they’d be okay with it?”

“I think so?” He shrugged, jostling Eddie closer to him. “They’d probably like it better than the idea of their almost forty year old son fucking his way through Hollywood, at least.”

“My mom would’ve died if she ever found out,” Eddie said. “Besides the fact that I’d never have the guts to come out if she were alive—she’s part of the reason why I was so ashamed in the first place.”

“No offense, but your mom sounds like a bit of a dick.”

“I feel like you’ve said that before.”

“Probably. Would’ve loved to meet her, though.”

He shot him a weird look. “Why?”

“I mean, she’s half of you, right? So she must’ve been a fucking smokeshow.”

It took a second for that to register, but when it did Eddie jerked away from Richie again.  _ “God, _ you’re annoying.”

“Do you have pictures?”

“Fuck you, dude!”

Richie dissolved into full-body laughter, only stopping to chase after Eddie when he stomped off in a huff.

Eddie had already bought tickets to the show Harriet suggested when she dropped the little detail that it was  _ dinner theatre _ . Richie thought that was hilarious, so he’d accepted no arguments about doing literally anything else instead.

“So really, that was all your fault,” Eddie said as they spilled into the night with the rest of the dazed and confused crowd.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Richie said, his arm solidly around Eddie’s shoulders. “That was fucking spectacular.”

Some random guy whooped and said, “You got that fucking right!”

Richie high-fived him. Eddie rolled his eyes, leaning further into his side.

“Harriet doesn’t seem like the kind of person to be into that kinda thing, though,” Richie admitted as they walked. 

“She was definitely fucking with me.” But he couldn’t be mad. His stomach hurt from laughing—though the show hadn’t been anything close to a comedy. That was the problem. Luckily, having Richie with him to experience the inscrutable piece of theatre made it an enjoyable experience.

Richie nosed at Eddie’s hair; it was dark and he was three cocktails in. “Well, my dear, I’ve had a lovely time with you today. Would it be entirely too forward of me to invite myself over?”

He tilted his head up to smile at him. “Completely too forward. But that’s just the way I like it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cute stuff today, hot stuff tomorrow! Lemme know how you liked it!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly probably could've split this chapter in half as well, but I'm impatient to get to future chapters, so you can have a massive chapter, as a treat.  
> Warning for brief mention of homophobia/bullying

As soon as they got home, Eddie made a beeline for the shower.

When Richie tried to follow him, Eddie stopped him in the doorway. “The shower did not grow while we were away, Richie. You can get everything ready.”

“Like what? Candles?”

“What? What would we need candles for?”

“Romance?”

“Dude, I meant get the condoms and lube out and lay some clean towels on the bed. I don’t own any candles.”

“Are you sure you’re gay?”

Eddie flipped him off as he closed the bathroom door in his face.

Which left him alone with his thoughts, a terrible place to be right before doing something new. He was excited to have Richie fuck him, he absolutely wanted it, but that didn’t stop his nerves from racking up the longer he had time to worry about everything that could go wrong.

He was setting his folded clothes on the bathroom counter when he heard the opening chords to ‘Hungry Like the Wolf’ from the other room. And maybe he was developing a Pavlovian response to the song, but it started getting him excited in all the right ways. 

He grinned at himself in the mirror before hopping in the shower. 

A Bruce Springsteen song greeted Eddie when he walked out of the bathroom, which made him resolve to one day have a serious conversation with Richie about what constituted mood music, but now wasn’t the time. Richie was sitting on Eddie’s bed crosslegged, down to just his boxers and glasses. The bedside lamp cast him in a soft, romantic kind of light even without a candle. The mattress was covered, quilt-like, in towels.

“Did you throw my whole linen closet on there?” Eddie asked.

Richie looked up from his phone. “I didn’t understand the instructions.”

Eddie’s laughter shook the towel from around his hips onto the floor. “I don’t want cum all over my new sheets, what don’t you understand about that?”

“I mean obviously,” Richie said, staring at Eddie’s dick. “But you’re gonna clean them after anyway. Also, in case you hadn’t noticed, we kinda go all over the bed. So that’s why they’re everywhere.”

“You’re a fucking disaster.” Eddie joined him on the bed. “I can’t wait for you to fuck me.”

For once opting out of a verbal response, Richie just grabbed him by the hips and threw him onto the towels before crawling on top of him.

Eddie greedily welcomed Richie’s weight pressing him into the mattress. He pulled him close, intent to touch every inch of his body as they made out. He loved the feel of Richie’s bare chest rubbing against his, the smell of him overwhelming his own body wash, the taste of him licking into his mouth.

When Eddie’s erection grazed Richie’s soft stomach, Richie looked down between them with a breathless smirk.

“Well that’s a good hard dick,” he observed. “You want me to start getting you ready now?”

Eddie shivered at the thought of Richie _getting him ready._

“Yeah.”

Richie kissed him one more time and then asked, “Hands and knees?”

Eddie blinked at him, still preoccupied with the idea that Richie would be getting him ready to fuck him. “Me?”

“Whuh—” He laughed. “Yeah, you. Unless you want it like this, that’s fine.” He reached for the lube, still hovering over Eddie.

“No, I’ll—I’ll do hands and knees.” 

He didn’t particularly want to have to worry about his facial expressions while Richie stuck his fingers up his ass for the first time, so he was open to any option that would hide his face.

He sat up, kneeling, but before he could situate himself properly, Richie splayed a wide hand over his ribs. 

He caught his eye. “Seriously, you good? I can already see your wheels turning”

Eddie patted his cheek with a smile. “So start fucking me until I can’t think.”

Then he fell forward onto the towels, hands flat and knees spread, naked all over. The vulnerability of his position sent his heart thumping right to his throat, and it beat out a steady rhythm as Richie’s hands smoothed up his sides.

“That’s right, sweetheart, show me that ass,” Richie crowed.

Eddie’s face caught fire as his dick twitched. “Richie!”

“What?” he asked. “Too much?”

“No, just—” He dropped his head. “I can’t believe what I like with you.”

Richie’s grin was suddenly at his neck, sweaty chest grazing Eddie’s back and clothed erection digging into Eddie’s ass cheek. “Let me know if you like this too, huh?”

Eddie purposefully exhaled as Richie slipped his first finger in. His wide hand spanned Eddie’s lower back, and he focused on that as Richie started to gently move.

“How is it?” Richie prompted.

Eddie stared at the towel in front of him. “It’s weird.”

“Hm, aright. Sit tight, I’ll get you there.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be untightening me?”

“Sit loose? Spread ‘em?”

Eddie laughed, getting more comfortable with the new situation the longer Richie talked nonsense.

After a few minutes Richie asked, “How we feeling about another one?”

“Yeah.”

The click of the lube bottle sounded before Richie’s freshly slicked fingers slipped against his hole.

“Open wide!” Richie said under his breath.

Eddie laughed again, clenching involuntarily before Richie could get in at all. “Richie!”

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll try to rein in my raw comedic energy.”

“Fuckass,” Eddie muttered as Richie circled his entrance. It was an entirely new sensation, but not unpleasant. He liked that it was Richie doing it. He trusted him.

Richie kissed his shoulder blade and slid back in once Eddie had relaxed. He was definitely stretching him this time; two of Richie’s fingers up his ass were much more substantial than one. It made it much easier to imagine Richie’s dick inside him. 

A moan travelled slow out of his throat.

“How’s that?” Richie asked lowly. “That better, baby?”

“Uh huh.” It fell from Eddie’s open mouth. He tilted his head, focusing intently on the feeling he was working up towards. This was good, but it could be great. He wanted to get there.

Richie made soothing noises as he stretched him, not words so much as assurances that this was good, that Eddie was hot, that they were gonna have so much fucking fun.

He squeezed Eddie’s shoulder and pushed down the tiniest bit, murmuring, “You wanna—”

He didn’t need to finish the question.

Eddie sloped forward onto the mattress, elbows digging into a towel as his ass lifted towards Richie. The new angle stole the breath from him. 

“Fuck, Eds.” Richie adjusted his fingers a little, and in doing so brushed against something in Eddie that made him shout.

“Bingo.” Richie triumphantly worked his fingers against the same spot again.

 _“Ohmygod,”_ Eddie gasped, eyes open wide though his vision had been eclipsed by stars. His hands each fisted a different towel as he arched into Richie’s hand. “Richierichierichie—there, right _there—”_

Richie massaged his prostate slowly, tenderly, keeping a steady pressure as Eddie released an embarrassing stream of sounds. 

_“Richie,”_ he whined, chest tightening, stomach clenching. Fuck, he’d never felt so _much_ before. 

The hand on his shoulder slipped to the back of his neck and squeezed comfortingly. “Oh, I know, baby. Just wait til it’s my cock right here—”

And then Richie tapped rhythmically at Eddie’s prostate, like it was a button connected directly to Eddie’s dick.

Eddie was pretty sure he blacked out. Pleasure poured through his limbs, seizing his lungs and sending shocks to his core. He rode his orgasm out on Richie’s hand, covering himself in his own cum until Richie pulled out.

“Holy shit,” Richie laughed.

Eddie wheezed something meant to be, “Shut the fuck up” but probably missed it by a mile.

“That was hot.” Richie rubbed the small of his back. “Did you like that, Eddie? Coming untouched on my fingers? Holy _shit—”_

He groaned into his mattress, which didn’t do much to cover up his full-body blush. He couldn’t believe he came already. After, what? Five minutes? All Richie had done was find his fucking prostate, Jesus Christ. What was his cock gonna do to him?

“Aw, don’t hide that pretty face.” Richie rolled him over and wiped him off with a clean towel, throwing it and the towel Eddie had messed onto the floor. Then Richie’s face was hanging over him, cupping his cheek. “You good?”

Eddie nodded, turning into his palm. “I’ve... never felt that before.”

“Never even a prostate exam?” he asked, because obviously with all of Eddie’s health consciousness, one could expect that he got checked out regularly.

But, “Myra didn’t want strange men putting their fingers in me.”

Richie’s burst of laughter nearly deafened him. “Guess she was right to be worried!”

Eddie shoved him away, but allowed Richie to come back as he kissed his wrist, down his arm all the way up to his throat. 

With a warm breath at his ear, Richie said, “Seriously Eddie, that was so hot.”

“No, it wasn’t—”

“Yes, it was—”

“Okay, yeah, it was, but I still need to get fucked tonight,” Eddie snapped, as if Richie had somehow forgotten the entire point of fingering him in the first place. “Watch your fucking fingers next time, you dick—”

Richie was laughing all over again. “Okay, maybe I got a little carried away—”

“A little?” He sat up on his elbows incredulously. “Bend over, let’s see how long you last—” 

“You’re fucking ridiculous. Are you mad that you came?”

“Yeah! I had plans—”

“And we’ll get there,” Richie promised him, kissing him long and slow. “In a bit. For now, just relax, build your strength back up—”

Eddie lunged at him as Richie reclined onto the pillows. “Are you fucking kidding me—”

“What, you think you can get it up again in five minutes?” He lifted a brow. “Weren’t you the one mocking me last time about multiple orgasms? We’re old, babe. Chill.”

Eddie grumbled under his breath as Richie slid off the bed to get him a glass of water. He watched him cross the room in his underwear, big shoulders, soft stomach, hairy thighs. 

“Wash your hands,” Eddie said as Richie reached for the fridge handle with the hand that had just been up his ass. 

Richie did a little dance back from the fridge, swaying his hips to whatever terrible 80s song was playing, before washing up in the kitchen sink. 

Eddie shifted where he sat, achingly aware of the emptiness where Richie had been. He clenched down on nothing, chasing the unprecedented pleasure that he’d experienced mere minutes ago. 

Richie gave him the glass of water, still effusive with the smugness of getting Eddie to come like that. The line of his cock was clearly defined against his boxer-briefs. Sucking him off could get Eddie hard again faster, he mused. But if Richie came without fucking him first, he’d die, he’d just die.

He eyed Richie as he took a sip of water, letting it cool his throat while the rest of him burned with impatient desire.

“Your mind going somewhere?” Richie asked.

“Yeah, the gutter,” Eddie said. “Kiss me.”

Richie leaned down, obeying easily. Eddie arched into the kiss, and was reminded all over again how there was nothing in his ass when there should be something. 

Eddie manhandled Richie to where he wanted him up against the pillows and licked determinedly into his mouth.

Richie chuckled, skimming a palm up his side. “You just don’t like taking my advice, do you?”

What exactly did Richie expect him to do? Laze around for a couple hours while his cock was _right_ there ready to make Eddie come harder than he’d ever had in his life? Every touch from Richie struck him like a spark, waking him up after nearly forty years of waiting for something to light him up like Richie could. He wasn’t waiting around anymore.

Eddie scratched his nails down his chest before cupping the bulge in Richie’s underwear. He thumbed along his shaft to press at the wet spot soaking at his head. “C’mon, don’t you wanna fuck me good, Richie?”

“Oh my god,” Richie gasped, twitching up into his hold. “What do you want me to do, fuck you soft?”

The thought made him so hot his fingertips tingled. “I won’t be soft for long, promise.”

Richie made some hungry noise deep in his throat before catching his lips again in a filthy-deep kiss. Arousal sparked fresh, low in his stomach as Richie’s big hands roamed over Eddie’s body.

He pawed blindly at Richie’s person until he found the elastic of his underwear and snapped it against his hip. “ _Off.”_

“You don’t ask nice for anything, do you?” Richie huffed, but he had his underwear off in the blink of an eye.

Eddie grabbed a condom off the nightstand and straddled him, knees bracketing Richie’s hips. “I think I’m being very nice.”

Richie laughed and grabbed his thigh. “Whoa there, horndog, how about I get a third finger in there first?” 

When Eddie started to argue, Richie held two fingers next to his erection in a helpful visual comparison. Eddie’s mouth pulled to the side, considering the sight in front of him. His cock _was_ thicker than two fingers.

“Unless you wanna take me in real slow—”

“No, no, hurry up.” He grabbed Richie’s wrist and positioned himself at his entrance.

“You’re gonna be sensitive—”

“What’s your point?”

Richie tugged his hand out of Eddie’s to re-lube his fingers. “And here I was worried you wouldn’t like this.”

“Me too,” Eddie admitted. The corner of his mouth pulled up. “Guess we should both worry less.”

Richie nipped his ear. “God, you’re a fucking dream, you know that?”

He rubbed at Eddie’s slick hole, and Eddie allowed himself to relax as he was stretched further, taking in the slight burn with his eyes closed.

“Alright?” Richie asked.

Eddie nodded, biting his lip.

Richie was right—he was even more sensitive than the first time. But the hitch in his throat that the sensation gave him didn’t make him wanna stop. He welcomed the almost-too-much, right on the edge of indescribably good and uncomfortable. It made him hot all over.

He bobbed gently, setting the pace, already liking that this position gave him more control.

Richie kissed down his throat as he scissored his fingers in him, sucking at his collarbone so hard it would bruise. Eddie moaned, trying to angle Richie’s fingers in him just where he wanted him, but Richie held his hip steady. 

“Just let me get you ready,” he mumbled against Eddie’s skin.

“I’m ready, I’m—“ He bit his lip so he wouldn’t start begging. Because he didn’t need to. He wrapped his fist around Richie’s cock and stroked it slow. “You said you’d let me do whatever I want, Rich.”

 _“Holy_ shit.” It came out in a hot breath against Eddie’s chest.

He took the hint. Richie slipped his fingers out of him and had a condom on in record time. He wiped his hand off with wet naps from the side table and then immediately took hold of Eddie’s hips.

He met Richie’s eye, but suddenly found it much too overwhelming to look right at him as he shuffled forward to hover over his cock. So he looked down instead, at his hand fisted around the base as he sank down onto Richie.

He released a shuddering breath when their thighs met.

“Fuck,” Eddie gasped. “That’s—so full.” 

He flushed down his chest, stuffed to the brim by Richie Tozier. Richie’s nails dug into the crease of his thighs, making Eddie’s hips jerk and sending blood rush to his dick

Eddie swore again, swirling slowly on Richie’s cock to feel as much of him as possible.

“So fucking hot.” Richie mouthed at his neck, nipping and sucking his skin. “Feel so fucking good on my cock, Eddie.”

Eddie groaned long and loud. He draped his arms around his neck as he lifted himself up just to drop back down again, luxuriating in the slick drag of Richie inside him. He’d never felt like this, so unravelled, untethered. People had been telling him to get the stick out of his ass his whole life, but maybe all he really needed was something to fill him up.

He relished the burn of his thighs as he bounced faster, chasing the heat building in his stomach. And then Richie bucked his hips up to meet him. Eddie’s eyes went wide, choking in the middle of a breath from how deep Richie got inside him.

“Yes, _fuck,_ Richie.” He was half-hard and throbbing between them.

“Didn’t take long at all, huh?” Richie said lowly, seemingly mesmerized by the sight of Eddie’s growing erection.

“Richie, do that again.”

“Lemme—lemme lay back. I can get a better angle—”

“Yeah, yeah—” Eddie released his hold on him and pushed at his chest, his sweat and hair slipping against his palms.

Richie’s hands eclipsed Eddie’s hips again, fitting into their own groove there. Eddie hoped he left bruises like on his neck, a lingering memory of their time together. He covered Richie’s rough knuckles with his hands, holding them in place as Richie fucked up to meet Eddie’s downward thrusts.

Eddie understood now why Richie cried last time. It felt so fucking good being filled, over and over again—Eddie leaned back just a little and Richie hit that spot inside him that made him come the first time.

Eddie let out a groan of a laugh and adjusted his position so Richie’s cock dragged against his prostate with every hitch of his hips.

“Fuck me, Richie, fuck, Richie…” His words devolved into the frantic utterance of Richie’s name, faster and breathier every time.

His cock was smearing embarrassing amounts of precum across his stomach until Richie grasped it loosely.

Eddie keened, taken off-guard at the new pleasure of Richie’s big hand on his aching cock. Just enough of a grip to feel it, his thumb slipping over the head as Eddie jerked between Richie’s cock and his fist.

“You like that?” Richie asked. His voice was wrecked.

“Yes, shit.” Eddie’s nails dug into his chest. “So good I don’t even wanna come, just wanna fucking _feel_ you.”

He moaned and jerked Eddie off harder. “Please, Eds, I could watch you on my cock forever.” 

Eddie’s legs gave out. He slumped onto Richie’s thighs, his cock buried deep inside him for a few seconds until Richie squeezed Eddie’s dick and Eddie ground down onto him by instinct.

“Fuck me, Richie,” Eddie said. “Fuck me, fuck—”

Richie flipped him on his back, and suddenly Eddie was completely surrounded by him. His hot breath on his cheek, his sweaty chest gliding against his, Richie’s hand circling his dick, and Richie’s cock buried so far into him Eddie could feel it in his throat.

He hiked Eddie’s leg around his hip and threw himself in. “Like this?” It was so low it was almost a growl.

All Eddie could do was nod, mouth agape as Richie fucked him as deep and fast as he could. 

“That’s—that’s it, Richie. Can’t get enough of you—so good at fucking me, Richie,” Eddie moaned. His breaths came in short, cut-off pants, like something in his ass was clutching at his lungs. 

Richie’s hand slipped off his leg, almost stuttered to a stop altogether, so Eddie wrapped both legs around his waist to encourage him to go on. He could feel his orgasm coming this time, steadily building instead of grabbing him by the neck.

He twisted his fingers in Richie’s hair and gasped, “I’m gonna—I’m gonna come, but you’re gonna keep fucking me, okay? Don’t stop.”

“Oh, god.” Richie dropped his face to the crook of his shoulder as his hips slapped against the back of Eddie’s thighs. “You’re gonna kill me, Eds.”

“No, Richie, come on.” He pulled at Richie’s hair. “I want it—want you—”

He groaned. “Wanna feel you come around my cock so bad.”

Eddie threw his head back as he exploded between their chests. Pleasure raked through him, pure and carnal and sweet. He swore he saw stars—the universe, maybe, but not much mattered at that moment besides Richie. 

Richie dropped his softening dick on his stomach, but didn’t slow. Eddie lazed on the mattress, double-fucked and energy spent as Richie kept fucking into him good and hard, even as Eddie’s breath hitched in his throat, as the oversensitivity made him dig his nails into Richie’s back.

“That’s right, just like that,” Eddie breathed, lost in the everything of Richie. 

His thrusts lost their precision, frantically moving against Eddie. Eddie yelped as Richie brushed his bloated prostate, though his hips twitched to follow the sensation. 

Richie wasn’t saying anything other than Eddie’s name interspersed with curses. He was close, and Eddie wanted to give him exactly what he needed.

“You know how much I love your cock, don’t you?” Eddie whispered in his ear, a secret just for him. “Fucking me just how I need it. So fucking good.” He kissed whatever skin he could reach. “Such a good boy for me, Richie, fucking perfect—”

Richie choked back a sob that sounded like Eddie’s name. He stilled, burying himself up to the hilt in Eddie’s ass before collapsing on top of him.

Then it was quiet, save for their panting as they caught their breaths and the saxophone solo of the latest jaunty song from Richie’s sex playlist.

Eddie pet the back of his neck soothingly, coming down from his own high as Richie wiped his wet cheeks on the towel next to Eddie’s head. 

Eddie _did_ that to him. He made this grown man so overcome with emotion that he cried, just from having sex and saying nice things to him. It brought a weight to his chest that had nothing to do with Richie spread across him.

“Mm, oh my god.” Richie went on murmuring softly, face tucked away in Eddie’s neck. “Fuck, baby.”

His hand settled on Richie’s shoulder blade on his heart’s side, and Richie squeezed him tight to his body. That desperate urge to take care of Richie snuck up on him again. And god, it was a lot. This was a lot to feel, wasn’t it? He supposed it was why Richie cried. It all had to go somewhere. 

Eddie’s ass pulsed like it had its own heartbeat. Richie’s eyes were still red from crying. The chorus of ‘Let’s Hear It for the Boy’ was kicking up, and he couldn’t help but wonder if they were supposed to feel much. Was it normal, this crackling across his ribs? 

Just when it was really starting to feel like too much, Richie pulled off and got them cleaned up.

Eddie had gone well past sated into completely limp, so he just laid there as Richie shoved the dirtied towels into a pile on the floor, humming along to the song before plastering himself back to Eddie’s side for a cuddle.

Richie tapped his forehead. “What’s going on up there?”

Eddie looked down at Richie, who’d been fucking him within an inch of his life five minutes ago and was now curled around him like he couldn’t survive with more than half an inch between them. 

“You ever wanna fuck like normal people?” Eddie asked.

“Like who?”

“What?”

“Did you have a specific couple in mind you’d like to model our sex life after—?”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“No, why do you keep asking if it’s normal?” Richie shifted so his chin was propped on Eddie’s chest. “What do you think is not normal?”

The way Eddie’s breath caught at Richie’s wide eyes magnified through his glasses looking up at him like that, for one. But he wasn’t going to say that.

“Is it the dirty talk?” Richie pressed. “Because you know I can’t shut up, and it’s not like I can talk about the weather when you’re riding me like a fucking bull.” He paused. “Could turn my music up louder, if you want.”

 _“No,”_ he nixed that immediately.

Richie tilted his head, stubble lightly scraping Eddie’s chest.

But Eddie couldn’t say exactly what he meant. Because the gist was that sex with Richie was intense; it gave him more than he thought he should be feeling. And it crawled from his dick, through his lungs and into his brain, nestling there and feeding him impossible ideas.

“Never mind,” Eddie said.

His brows rose. “Mm, no, you’re gonna need to give me a bit more than that, Eds. Do you not—do you not _like_ it?”

“Of course I like it,” he rushed to reply. “It’s just a lot.”

“You specifically said you didn’t wanna go slow,” Richie said, trying to piece it together. “And that you wanted me to keep going—”

“I know what I said. I’m not complaining about what I literally told you to do—”

“Is it the praise kink stuff?” He dropped his gaze. “You don’t have to do it if you think it’s weird.”

“No, that’s not—” Eddie flailed to touch him somewhere, anywhere, so Richie wouldn’t feel bad about himself. Because it wasn’t that, not specifically. He ended up cupping his cheek. “Like—it makes you feel a lot, right?”

“A lot of what?”

“You _cry,_ Richie.”

He covered his face with his hands. “I knew you were lying when you said it was hot—”

“That’s not—” Eddie groaned. Stop fucking deflecting, Kasprak. He squared his shoulders, preparing to overshare. “The most I ever felt having sex with Myra was relief when it was over.”

“Okay,” Richie said, still muffled. He peeked up at him through his fingers. “Do you think that’s normal, Eds?”

He bit his lip. Even when they weren’t fucking—when they weren’t even together, when they were just talking or texting, Eddie still got bombarded with more feelings than he ever intended to have.

It was all so different with Richie. And he didn’t know what to do with that.

He sat up, hissing at the way his ass twinged.

“When I was married, I felt so numb all the time. Or I’d just feel a pile-up of shitty emotions—anger and frustration and this certainty that I was gonna feel that way until I died. Because that’s how it was supposed to be, and that’s what everybody’s life was like.” He swallowed. “But when I’m with you—”

He stopped. This was too much. Way too much.

“It’s good stuff with me, right?” Richie asked softly. Almost hesitantly.

Eddie nodded. Even that might’ve been too much of a give away.

“Well, that’s—” Richie started. “I mean, not that I’d know, really, about feeling good about life in general, but at the very least I know that enjoying sex is way more normal than banging it out while feeling numb.”

Eddie pressed both hands to his own chest, where his heart was trying to beat out of his ribcage. 

Richie sat up, leaning his shoulder against his. “I mean, we can try toning it down, but we get so into it because we like it that way, right?”

It took Eddie an elongated silence to realize that Richie was actually expecting a response.

Eddie nodded again.

Maybe he’d just never been so in tune with somebody before. They were so, so different, but Richie understood him like no one else ever had. And he was right—the sex was a lot because it was good, because they listened to each other, and paid attention, and wanted whatever would get the other off.

“Yeah.” Eddie tucked a sweaty lock of Richie’s hair behind his ear. “Yeah, I like it a lot, Richie.”

“Me too.” His eyes were big, his whole focus on Eddie. “And I’m gonna be honest, you moaning about how good I fuck you really does it for me.”

“I _know,”_ he intoned, pressing a kiss to his jaw. Richie shivered. “But it’s true, you felt so fucking good—”

“Eddie, for the love of god—” He pushed him back onto the mattress and swallowed up Eddie’s laughter with another kiss.

A little while later, Richie decided he was peckish, so he scrounged around Eddie’s kitchen and returned to bed, very disappointed, with carrots and hummus.

“Not even pita chips?”

“Sorry I didn’t stock up on after-sex snack foods,” Eddie said sarcastically. “Send me a list next time.”

Richie crunched down on one hummus-covered carrot before tossing it all onto the bedside table. He looked down at Eddie lazing across the pillows contemplatively. “So what made you file for divorce? If you thought you were gonna live the rest of your life like that?” 

Eddie didn’t immediately respond.

“Or was it her idea?”

“No, not it was all me.” Eddie started inspecting his ceiling so he wouldn’t have to look at Richie. “There was... a guy at work.”

“Who?”

“You don’t know him. He doesn’t work there anymore.”

Hadn’t worked there in almost two years. He was still friends with him on Facebook, but Eddie didn’t go on Facebook.

“He was good at his job, really good, which is the one surprisingly high bar I set in order to get along with a coworker. We actually shared my office, which nobody ever wanted to do, and I didn’t want either. I always threatened to kick him out, but...”

“Was he cute?” Richie asked knowingly.

“Not really. Kinda, I mean—” He had no reason to lie. “Yeah. Gangly as fuck, though. Thirty year olds should have more grace than a newborn gazelle, you know?” 

Richie snorted. “What’s with you and body shaming?”

“Body wha—when did I body shame anybody?”

“You called me a schlub the first time we met,” he said incredulously.

“That wasn’t about your body! It was the posture, and the wrinkles, and the scruff—”

“Wrinkles?” He looked horrified.

“On your shirt!” Eddie sat up and squeezed his wide shoulders, dragging his touch across his hairy chest. “Richie, you’re hot. You’re so hot. You know how hot I think you are.”

“I mean, now I think you’re a liar, but—”

Eddie kissed him. “There are easier ways to fish for compliments.”

“What about this guy, though?” Richie asked. “You cheat on your wife with him?”

“What? No, I was way too repressed.”

“Ah, yes, sorry, I forgot how clearly repressed you were twenty minutes ago when you were begging me to stuff you full of my cock.”

He blushed beet red down to his chest. “Not at all what I said, and if you run the tape back, you’ll note that I never once begged.”

“Oh yeah, you just order me around, right? That’s what gets you off?”

“If you don’t like it, you can stop doing what I _kindly request,”_ he clarified.

Richie chuckled, staring at him entirely too warmly for the conversation topic.

“Do you even want to hear about how I got divorced?”

Richie nodded. “I mean, I can try. You keep drifting.”

“You keep distracting me,” Eddie accused. “And I don’t know—I’ve never told this story before.”

“Ooh, was it a big office mystery?” Richie asked.

“No, stop guessing. Nobody knew—nothing even happened.”

Richie laid down against the pillows and tucked his hands under his head like he was setting up for a bedtime story. “What was his name?”

“Jerome.” Eddie cast his mind back to that night, getting his thoughts in order. “I was working late, because I always was, to avoid Myra. He came back because he forgot his headphones or something. He’d been drinking. Said he broke up with his boyfriend. He sat on the edge of my desk while we were talking.”

He really _was_ cute. Puppy dog eyes and a clean fade up to tight curls. He’d been wearing a zip-up hoodie instead of his usual ironed shirt neatly rolled up to his elbows. The casualness had thrown Eddie off. Like they were somewhere else. Like they were other people.

“He was always saying stuff like how I was cool except that I was a boring straight guy who hated my wife.”

Richie whistled. “Went for the jugular this Jerome, huh?”

Eddie smiled. “The first time he said that, I said that I didn’t hate my wife. Then he waited, and laughed, because apparently I was supposed to follow it up saying that I loved her. He kept saying I should leave her, but people had been telling me that since our first date, so.”

“Jesus, Eds. You couldn’t take a hint?”

“I did eventually.”

Richie lifted a brow. “In your office?”

“No,” Eddie dismissed with another laugh. Richie was getting so far ahead of him. A little wistful, he said, “I just… I really wanted him to kiss me that night. It hit me like a ton of bricks.”

“What happened?”

“Myra called. For the third time in an hour. She always used to call me.” 

And Jerome would normally roll his eyes and go back to working, or go on break, or whatever, but that time he remained sitting on Eddie’s desk. Just watched as Eddie told Myra that he’d get finished sooner and be able to come home faster if she stopped calling him. 

“And when I hung up, he said I should leave her. Again. And I still wanted him to kiss me, but then I was scared of it. Scared of all the possibilities in that dark office with him looking at me like that.”

Richie nodded, easily enraptured.

Eddie shrugged. “I told him to go home. He did. We were normal on Monday. He transferred a few months later, and I have no idea if it had to do with me. But I felt like I’d lost my chance somehow.”

Chance for _what_ specifically, he couldn’t admit to himself until even after the divorce.

“And for months after, I thought about that night. If I’d left Myra when he’d told me, what would’ve happened? I heard his voice every time Myra annoyed me, every time I snapped at her, every time she nagged, or made me feel bad, or inconvenienced me even slightly. ‘You should leave her’. Until it wasn’t his voice, anymore. It was mine. Then six months after _that_ moment, I told her I wanted a divorce.”

“God, you move like a turtle.”

“It was hard!” Eddie defended himself. “And scary. I’d never been on my own.”

It really was embarrassing, the extent to which he’d let his mother and Myra run his life, run his errands, do his chores. Sure he deep-cleaned the bathroom every once in a while, but Myra always worried about bleach ruining his lungs, or dust triggering his asthma, so he didn’t clean that much, even though Eddie _liked_ cleaning. It was the stupidest thing.

All that was to say, he really hadn’t known if he could _exist_ as a singular human person. Who was he without the people who cared for him telling him how to live and what to feel?

Richie tugged his hand to lie down next to him. “I get it. It’s not fun.”

Eddie pulled him into a hug. “Did you always live alone?”

“No, I had roommates for a long time—LA isn’t cheap,” he said. “But they weren’t, like, friends, or girlfriends. Just paying part of the rent.”

“You had friends, though?” Eddie asked. He thought about the stereotype of the lonely celebrity life—that it was hard to make friends because you didn’t know whether they cared about you or your money. But it didn’t fit for loud, boisterous Richie.

“Do you?” 

“We are not the same,” he said with a smile tugging his lips. “Don’t people like you?”

He pulled a face. “I’d love to see me how you see me, dude. I’m an annoying piece of shit.”

“That’s your charm,” Eddie argued.

Richie laughed, squeezing Eddie tighter to him. “Yeah, well my charm is an acquired taste, I guess. Especially when I first got here. Nineteen years old and wanting the world but being terrified of failure at the same time. I was convinced I was gonna get mugged, lose everything, and have to move home.”

“Were you ever mugged?”

“I mean, yeah. It’s LA. But I kept my credit card and ID in my underwear for safety. And it’s not like I ever had more than five bucks to my name anyway.”

Eddie brushed his hair back and smiled down at him. “You’re so smart.”

Surprisingly (or maybe not), that garnered a pink blush across Richie’s cheeks. “But anyway, yeah, friends have always been hard for me. I don’t… I mean, if we’re doing honesty hour—I don’t like being honest. Feels like I’m giving up too much of myself.”

“I get that,” Eddie said softly.

Eddie couldn’t imagine that Richie let many people see him like this; vulnerable and open. Not that it was a common look for Eddie, either.

As they finally drifted to sleep, he didn’t linger on wondering why it was so easy for them to be honest with each other. 

Eddie woke up to the sun shining through his open curtains. Some pop music bullshit was playing, and Richie wasn’t in bed next to him, which was an annoying development.

“Hey,” Eddie said loudly, when a quick sweep of his apartment didn’t locate Richie.

Richie strolled out of the bathroom in a fresh pair of boxers, tossing something between his hands. “Morning, sunshine. How’s your ass feeling?”

Eddie sent him a flat look. “Sore, dickwad, thanks a lot.”

He grinned proudly. “You’re welcome!”

Eddie pointed at the thing in his hands. “What is that?”

“Margarita bath bomb. Gotta say, I didn’t peg you for a bath bomb kind of guy.”

“I was forced to participate in a holiday gift exchange at work.” He’d warned them that he was just gonna buy an emergency first aid kit and put a bow on it as a gift, and they’d all laughed, but some guy from payroll went home with a first aid kit that day. And Eddie got a bath set.

Richie brought the sphere up to his nose. “Well, it smells great. And I’ve drawn us a bath, if you’re interested.”

“You’ve drawn—?” He shook his head. “My bathtub is not big enough for two people, Richie.” 

“If we want it enough, we’ll make it work,” he said with a wink.

And a bath with Richie didn’t sound like a terrible way to start his day, so they could at least try it.

Richie lit up when Eddie rolled out of bed.

Then he ruined it when Eddie started hobbling and said, “Need help there, old man?”

Eddie snatched the bath bomb out of his hand and almost chucked it at his head. “Why are you even up earlier than me, asshole?”

“I slept on the plane. Did something weird to my sleep schedule, I guess.”

“As in, made it sensible?” Eddie tossed the bath bomb into the water, and they both watched it barely fizz anticlimactically. 

Richie shucked off his boxers. “Big spoon or little spoon?”

“Don’t make me answer that, just get in.”

Richie settled into the back of the tub clearly not made for two people and bent his knees so Eddie had room to get in between them. Eddie winced as he lowered himself into the water. He wasn’t sure if he was ever gonna get used to the sting after getting fucked, but hopefully he’d have many opportunities in the future to try.

He leaned back against Richie’s chest, tilting his head against Richie’s shoulder. Richie draped his arms along the tub rim, and Eddie placed his own arms on top. With the warm water encapsulating them and Richie’s solid body cradling him, it felt as intimate as sex. 

They were quiet, for once, peaceful as they relaxed together in the water.

“Feeling squished yet?” Eddie asked as one pop song faded into the next.

“I’ll live,” Richie murmured. He turned one palm skyward to squeeze Eddie’s hand. “Hey, did you ever get beat up as a kid?”

“By who?”

“Like, other kids?”

“Why?”

“I dunno, for being a loser—”

Eddie laughed. “I meant why are you asking, but okay. Uh, yeah I think so. Tried not to, though. My mom hated it when I got hurt.”

Richie made a little sound, and Eddie craned his neck to look at him. Richie’s face said it all—that was a weird reason to not wanna get beat up.

“She wouldn’t let me leave the house for weeks on end,” Eddie elaborated, defending himself, not his mother. “To keep me safe from bullies. And whatever else.”

The inside of his room was the strongest memory he had of Derry, and it was drenched in negative emotions. He’d stopped fighting his mom after they moved away before his senior year of high school. Now he couldn’t remember why he’d been so desperate to get out of the house in the first place. It wasn’t like he had friends. 

Eddie faced forward again, so he wouldn’t have to react to Richie’s worry lines. 

“But I barely remember all that,” Eddie said, as though that made it less worse. “Again, why are you asking about childhood bullies during this lovely bath you’ve drawn for us?”

“Do you want me to shut up?”

“No, I want to know what’s rattling around that head of yours.”

“Good.” He laced his fingers through his. “And it’s because I got the shit kicked out of me constantly.”

“No offence, but that doesn’t surprise me.”

“It doesn’t surprise anybody.” He drew the tip of his nose along the back of Eddie’s neck. “I don’t remember what I did to them, but I remember them calling me a cocksucker, among various other things.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie murmured.

“No, it’s okay,” he said quietly. “Because now sometimes when I’m going down on you, with your cock halfway down my throat, and we’re about to get off, I think of those bullies—”

“Are you serious—”

“And I hope they’re dead. I hope they’re miserable. But even if they’re not, I won. Because I am a cocksucker. And I love it. And I’m happy.”

His voice was rich with smugness, right at Eddie’s ear.

Eddie twisted to brush his lips against his cheek. “You’re so weird, Richie,” he whispered, but the way his mouth curled around the words made it sound sweeter, softer. More along the lines of _I’m glad you’re happy, and that I make you happy._ And, _you make me happy, too._

The need to voice aloud that last part overwhelmed him.

“You know it’s so hard for me to be happy?” Eddie said. “But not when I’m with you.”

“I know, Eds.” He hugged him tight to his chest. He could feel Richie’s heart beating against his back. “Me too.”

After their bath, Richie fried up some bacon and eggs for them, and the sight of Richie cooking at his stove in just a pair of boxers got Eddie hotter than it probably had any right to. 

“Since when do you eat bacon?” Richie asked as they sat down. “Like, normal pig bacon and not your shitty low fat stuff?”

Eddie tried to hide his blush behind his coffee mug. “I only bought it because you were coming and knew you’d complain about my turkey bacon.”

Richie looked at him fondly, but what he said was, “Still couldn’t buy me any good snacks though, huh?”

When they finished eating, Richie bent over his overnight bag to pull out a pair of jeans.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asked, shaking himself out of his reverie of staring at Richie’s ass.

“Putting pants on?” he asked, suddenly doubtful.

“Why?”

“I saw a lot of ideas on your list of suggestions. We’re not heading out?”

Eddie set his chin on his palm contemplatively, eyes drawing over Richie’s bare shoulders and chest. He didn’t get to see Richie’s chest when they left the house. Didn’t get to kiss him, either. And he was going home today. It hardly seemed fair that he’d have to share him with the public. 

He leaned back in the kitchen chair. “What if we didn’t?”

His gaze dragged over Eddie’s body greedily. “Did you have a better idea, Eddie baby?”

“What do you like better? Giving or receiving?”

A smirk crept onto his face. “Why, you want me to give it to you again?”

Eddie rolled his eyes at the wording, but that was his own fault. “Not right now. I don’t know how you bottomed twice last time.”

“I just wanted it real bad.” He shrugged. 

“You want it again?”

His smirk grew to a grin. “Yeah, you wanna fuck me?”

He sipped his coffee nonchalantly. “Well, knowing how good it feels now…”

“What?” Richie turned around to shake his ass at him. “You don’t want me missing out?”

Eddie set his coffee down. “Get on the bed.”

Richie grinned and happily flopped face-first onto the mattress. 

Eddie joined him, straddling the back of his thick thighs and grabbing his ass through his boxers. Though Richie didn’t need any convincing, he still leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Lemme take you apart, Richie. Finger you open until you’re begging for it and then fuck you til you cry.”

He gasped, popping his ass up into Eddie’s palms. “Fuck, what happened to wanting boring sex, you hot little minx?”

Well. He’d changed his mind.

“Sorry.” Eddie smirked. “You don’t have to cry.”

Richie laughed, and then Eddie slid off him, dragging his boxers down his legs and undressing himself as well.

They made out sloppily for a few minutes before Eddie reached for the lube and a glove; he wasn’t impatient to fuck him, he just wanted Richie to have something inside him as soon as possible. 

Richie spread his legs as Eddie reached down with lubed fingers, and he slipped in easily, Richie welcoming him inside. 

“How’s that feel, Rich?” Eddie murmured as he opened him up. “I wanna make you feel so good, as good as you made me feel.”

His eyes rolled back in his head, eagerly bearing down on one finger. Eddie ate up the moans leaving Richie’s mouth as they kissed, while Richie squirmed insistently against his hand.

“Another one, come on, Eds,” Richie said, his voice already strained. So Eddie added more lube and tucked in another finger, because he knew one was just a tease.

Richie’s dick kept rubbing against his stomach every time Eddie moved, and finally he couldn’t take his eyes off of it—thick and clean and dripping with precum.

So he ended up blowing him while fingering him, much to Richie’s delight. He went in with another finger, getting his ass good and stretched while Eddie’s lips stretched around his cock. He swore he could live off the sounds Richie released as he unraveled him, took him apart piece by piece just from the pleasure Eddie was giving him.

Richie’s grip tightened in Eddie’s hair the longer he was down there. Eddie kept going until it almost hurt, when he knew Richie was about to come.

Then he popped off and out.

He stroked his dry hand soothingly over Richie’s inner thigh as he whined and swore at him.

“What’s wrong, Richie?” he asked with the ghost of a chuckle. He tugged his glove off. “You still wanna take my cock, don’t you?”

His chest heaved with the force of his breaths. “Jesus fuck, Eds. You…”

“What? I’m a dream?” he teased.

“Shit, I did say that, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

Richie watched hungrily as Eddie rolled a condom onto himself. “I meant it.”

He patted Richie’s calf, since his legs had gone all akimbo when Eddie pulled away. “Open wide…”

Richie’s laugh was breathy this time, his cock bouncing against his stomach as he spread his legs as wide as they’d go.

Eddie squeezed his thigh, warm and tender to the touch. “God, you look good like this. You know how much I miss having you in front of me when you go away?”

His chest grew even redder with a blush. “Eddie, just give me your fucking cock already, come on.”

Eddie was almost lightheaded from how turned on he was, so in one fluid motion he thrust in and leaned down to kiss him, leaving Richie gasping against his lips.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, Eddie rolled into him steady and slow, making it last, and they didn’t get out of bed until long after that.

When the time came later that day, Eddie considered offering to drive Richie to the airport, but he didn’t. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from kissing Richie goodbye in the car, and what if someone saw them? Better to just cuddle on his couch, sharing soft kisses until his cab arrived.

Richie’s departure left Eddie feeling like he lost a limb, which was all at once too dramatic and yet not quite drastic enough. 

Eddie had to shove his phone under a pillow to stop himself from texting to ask when they could get together again. Because Richie’s first response would be something akin to _Clingy, much?_ but then he’d immediately check his calendar to give them both something to look forward to.

Which made Eddie wonder, yet again, how long they expected this long-distance fuck buddy situation to last. 

He had a hard time convincing himself that this arrangement was still exactly what he wanted, because spilling their hearts out all weekend made it very clear that Richie was the most important person in Eddie’s life right now.

And that made him need a fucking pill, because that’s what Myra had been to him once upon a time.

It was different with Richie, obviously. Worlds different. But Eddie was the same. He didn’t have enough friends ( _any_ friends) to even out his life. Finding people who didn’t make him want to stab himself in the eye with a pen—or who didn’t want to stab _him_ in the eye—was near impossible.

Myra filled that slot until they’d revealed their true selves to each other when it was too late to bail. After the wedding, after they co-signed for a house together. Obviously Eddie hadn’t expected that being with Myra would be the happily-ever-after from movies, but he thought it would be easy. A pleasant partnership. He hated that even the most lukewarm hopes for his marriage had felt like a joke less than a year into it. 

And with Richie he had such big hopes, wild dreams that he wanted so badly but dreaded with every fibre of his being. Because it all seemed okay with Myra before they committed to each other. When it was too late to go back—when it would’ve hurt both of them too much to admit they were wrong— _that’s_ when it all fell apart. 

But that wouldn’t happen with Richie. Because they weren’t together. They were just…

Richie was just…

His phone buzzed from underneath the pillow.

It was messages with the dozens of pictures from their weekend together, accompanied by Richie’s text, _In case you wanted memories more substantial than those hickeys!_ 😜😁😘💖💕💓

Eddie scrolled through the pictures with a groan.

Richie was a risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so many favourite parts of this chapter, please let me know yours!  
> Also..... next chapter? It's Richie POV :))))


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm so glad everybody enjoyed the last chapter, I appreciate your comments so much!! Little heads up: stuff gets heavier from here on out.  
> Chapter count has been updated--it's an estimate for now, but if it changes it won't be much.  
> Warnings for internalized homophobia, references to drug/alcohol use.  
> Without further ado, Richie POV!

“They’ve requested you stop referring to them as dick pills on Twitter,” Kiki said, reading off the notes app on her phone. “It’s not the image they’re going for.”

She’d joined him in his hotel room an hour after they checked in, to ‘go over things’. Apparently every day of this tour would involve a daily meeting to ‘go over things’, which was exhausting. Whatever she had to tell him could certainly have been an email instead—that’s what Eddie was always saying. But Eddie actually read his emails. Kiki had learned early on in working with Richie that the only way she could reasonably expect him to retain information was by saying it to his face, and even then she might have to repeat it a couple times before it sunk in. 

“Isn’t any exposure good exposure?” Richie asked. 

“You’re not even using the brand name, so no.”

He lolled his head back against the couch. “Does that mean I have to change my set, too?” 

He was a week into touring and he kind of wanted to change his  _ entire _ set, not just a few lines, but he wouldn’t know what to change it to.

In response, Kiki raised her brows and hummed pointedly.

Normally, he’d ignore that by getting his phone out, but since dick pills, she’d gotten into the habit of asking to hold onto his phone whenever she wanted him to pay attention, so he wouldn’t get distracted.

“Oh fuck off,” he dismissed instead. “I already changed the bit about saggy tits, what more do you want from me?”

“To change bad jokes before I tell you to.” She lifted a ring-laden finger, as though the idea had just struck her. “Or better yet—”

“—write your own!” they finished in tandem, because it had been Kiki’s catchphrase for months leading up to this tour. His ghostwriters did  _ not _ like her.

“Come on, the dick pill commercials were a test run, you did great—”

“Kiki,” he said flatly. “I’m not writing a new set in the middle of a tour.”

She sucked her teeth, muttering, “You didn’t write a new set  _ before _ the tour, either.”

“Alright, you got me—” He lifted his hands. “I’m letting laziness run my life into the ground, oh woe is me. Can I have my phone back now?”

Kiki slipped it out of her back pocket and tossed it onto the couch next to him. “God, you’re annoying.”

He opened his texts to Eddie, replying to her on instinct, “That’s not what your mom was saying last night.”

The next thing he knew, his head was getting walloped by a pillow.

“You are forty years old and a professional comedian,” she complained. “‘Your mom’ jokes are so incredibly beneath you.”

“You know what else—” 

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and she smashed the pillow to his face and held it there

“—was beneath me—” He struggled to get out through laughter and the threat of suffocation. 

She scoffed with a lot of feeling, and finally let up. “You’re impossible. One day I’m gonna leave you for Mulaney, and what will you do then?”

Richie shrugged, going back to his phone. “Tell jokes about tit-fucking saggy grandma boobs?”

“The fact that you were prepared to tell that joke on stage—” She took a deep breath, forefingers and thumb touching. 

“Steve loved that joke.” Richie stuck his bottom lip out. “Please don’t leave me for Mulaney, Kiki.”

She shook her head and headed for the minifridge, sweeping her pink curls back on top of her head from where they’d fallen during her latest suffocation attempt.

She seemed done, so Richie replied to Eddie’s latest text. 

The LA happiness-wellness-essential oil life guru-whatevers were always talking about finding your center, your one true self, that little place inside you that made you calm. Talking to Eddie was Richie’s. Nothing and nobody had ever made this much sense to him. 

So of course he was showing his affection by blowing up his phone with every Vine compilation he could find.

“You’ve seemed really happy lately,” Kiki observed after she’d grabbed herself a Fiji water from his minifridge. 

“Mm hm,” Richie hummed.

She settled onto the loveseat across from him, kicking her boot-clad onto the coffee table. Neither of them had any plans for the night other than hanging around his hotel room, apparently. Maybe they could watch a movie until Eddie got home from work, and then he’d kindly ask Kiki to leave him alone.

Eddie: _ I don’t understand?? What half of these things mean?? _

_ Oh wait that one’s funny _

_ You’re no good, duck! JUST. LIKE. YOUR. FATHER  _ 🦆

Richie: 🦆! 💘

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, actually,” Kiki said. “Is there, like, any reason for your good mood?”

“Just living life,” he muttered at his phone, debating which emoji truly captured his essence in the moment.

“Okay…” She twisted the bottle cap to and fro. “That’s cool. So, then, just randomly throwing this out there—but if you want to keep things to yourself, maybe start using your personal email for personal stuff, instead of your work email that we all have access to.”

He was halfway through a nod, paying more attention to her casual tone than her words, when he looked up from his phone. “What?

“Valerie just rounded up all your non-work emails from the past few weeks that were clogging up the business inbox, and forwarded them to me.”

Richie racked his brain for why this would be notable. He used his work email for everything, because he knew someone would eventually read them, unlike the 1000+ notifications in his personal mailbox.

“Is this about porn?” he asked.

“No,” Kiki said calmly, “it’s not about porn. And it’s not a big deal. Seriously, it’s like, a non-issue. I’m just giving you a heads up that if you don’t want certain things getting out, maybe try harder at keeping them private.”

The only secrets coming to mind were ones she’d have to tear out of him; being gay and dating Eddie, so he really didn’t like that it wasn’t porn. He didn’t like that she was treading so lightly, either. Kiki just  _ said _ things, she didn’t do hints or subtext. He found it to be a very helpful quality in a colleague, because he could trust that whatever she said was whatever she meant, even when it was bad. 

So her beating around the bush was setting him on edge pretty quick.

“Kiki, what the fuck are you talking about?” His phone was slipping through suddenly sweaty palms, so he set it down next to him on the couch.

“I think you know what I’m talking about, but you don’t want to talk about it, which is why I’m not talking about it.”

“What—what are you now, a fucking riddle machine? Just  _ tell _ me—”

“You visited Eddie in New York before the tour, right?”

One heartbeat passed, echoingly loud in Richie ears. “Eddie who?”

Kiki tapped through her phone before showing him the screen, pulled up to a confirmation delivery email with the digital signature ‘E Kaspbrak’.

“You sent him a TV.”

Richie blinked at the screen, wishing, as he occasionally did, that his glasses would break so he wouldn’t have to face his mistakes quite so clearly.

“But you’re not ready for this conversation—” Kiki started, like she could see all the way into the depths of him.

“He just—he won a bet from when we were working together, so I owed him a TV,” Richie scrambled for a cover.

“Uh huh,” she said, tucking her phone away. 

He felt so much younger than her in that moment. A little boy caught in a lie, waiting to be reamed out. So he dug himself deeper.

“And I went to New York because it’s  _ New York, _ there’s so much else to do there other than see a random risk analyst—”

“If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine, but don’t act like I’m stupid,” Kiki said. “He’s  _ literally _ your background screen.”

“Well, fuck off, quit looking at my phone!” He flung himself off the couch, tearing a hand through his hair as he started to pace. 

“Quit misusing your email inboxes,” she snapped.

Richie caught a flash of himself in the bathroom mirror—eyes wide, cheeks a blotchy red. He stopped and closed his eyes, keeping his back to her.

Get it together, come on. Damage control. How bad was it, and how bad was it going to get?

“Does Steve know?” he asked, mouth dry. “Does Val know? Does Twitter—”

“Whoa, hey, slow down, Sparky.” Kiki stood, hands up as though to stop him from barrelling a hundred miles an hour into a complete mess. “Richie, I’m on your side. I’m always on your side. I’m not telling anybody. This is all yours.”

He slumped onto the nearest piece of furniture; the chaise at the end of the hotel bed. He swallowed past a lump in his throat. “Then why didn’t you just leave it alone?”

“You don’t think I’ve left it alone?” she asked, almost pleadingly. “Dude, I’ve known something’s been up with you since Jackie.”

Richie’s last girlfriend. The one who, kind of condescendingly, told him that they should break up because he probably wanted a dick up his ass, and she simply couldn’t provide that to him.

That was, coincidentally, also the last time he’d done coke. He’d wanted to throw himself out of a helicopter—sky-diving, he’d told anyone who asked for an explanation.

“But you’ve been so happy lately,” Kiki continued, trying to convince him—of what? That he shouldn’t puke all over the floor? “I thought… maybe you’d be excited to talk about it.”

Richie choked out a shocked little laugh, but it made sense from Kiki’s side. Kiki was a lesbian, Kiki loved being gay; she went to Pride, and protests, and supported weird local performance art. One time Steve told her to tone it down and she bit his fucking head off. When Richie was asked for his opinion later, he’d managed a strangled ‘It’s all coolio, brah’ before changing the subject.

“Is it obvious, is it that obvious?” Richie asked. Could people smell it on him?

“No,” she said, sliding into a gentle tone he’d never heard from her before. “No, you’re a master of deflection, Rich. Steve thinks you’ve had a killer Tinder streak, because he’s an idiot.”

Richie fisted his shaking hands and hid them under his armpits. “That’s not an idiotic guess. Makes more sense than what’s happening.”

“Why, what’s happening?”

Great question. Just superb. Really helping him calm down in his already sensitive emotional state.

“You don’t have to tell me—” Kiki started when Richie dropped his head between his knees to heave a deep breath.

“I’m fucking Eddie,” he said roughly, “is that what you wanna hear?”

That’s one thing he could say for certain. Beyond that—who knew? Were they dating, were they boyfriends? It used to be obvious to Richie, but weirdly far into their relationship, Eddie had asked if Richie was sleeping with other people. Not in a jealous kind of way, but in a casual ‘if so, kindly pop out for an STI test!’ sort of way. 

He’d have almost preferred if Eddie had been jealous, because then he could’ve assured him— _ no, baby, you’re the only one for me. I don’t want anyone else. _

The feeling had been on the verge of exploding from his chest his whole visit with Eddie, but he still wasn’t sure Eddie wanted to hear it.

“Richie, this isn’t a fight,” Kiki said. “You don’t have to tell me anything, but if you feel like you’re alone, you’re not. If you feel like you have to hide, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.” The words were ripped out of him by the same frantic impulse that knotted his tongue every time he almost made a gay joke filming for dick pills. 

Kiki crouched in front of him, because he’d been staring sightlessly at the carpet for a few minutes now.

She forced him to meet her eye. “No, dude, you’re Richie fucking Tozier. You can do whatever you want. Come out, stay in the closet, move to New York, bring him to LA. It’s up to you.”

Each option hit him like a punch to the chest.

Come out.

Stay in the closet.

Move to New York.

Bring him to LA.

_ Come out. Come out. Come out. _

A lump was growing in his throat that he couldn’t swallow past.

“I wanna be alone.”

She hesitated. “Richie, I don’t know—”

His shoulders heaved with an exasperated, terrified breath. “Kiki, I swear to god—”

She rose. “Okay, I’ll go. I’ll leave you alone. Sorry.”

As soon as she closed the door behind her, Richie buried his face in his hands to stifle a sob. 

Just like always, fear burbled deep in the very core of him; like he was a fear-flavoured Fruit Gusher ready to burst. 

His mind raced ahead of him with a million nightmare scenarios of the world finding out, and every angry bigot creeping out of the woodwork to beat him to a pulp.

And worse, probably, than that—all his shitty homophobic, bigoted fans spitting on his name. Losing his whole career, Steve dropping him because it would be impossible to rep a gay guy who’d spent his whole celebrity life lying on stage about chasing pussy. 

Who’d even write for him? Would Richie have to pen his own material? Offer his own insights, let honesty tear him apart?

He jumped when his phone buzzed on the couch. He lurched up to grab it.

Eddie:  _ Stop sending me these when I’m at work! Joshua caught me watching one and now he keeps trying to show me his favourite little videos _

Richie closed his eyes, clutching his phone to his violently beating heart.

Another text came through.

Eddie:  _ Oh you’re in one of them! Every time you say erectile in the dick pill ads, it’s playing the audio of you saying cock from one of your shows _

_ Is that copyright infringement? Should I send this to your lawyer? _

With shaking hands, Richie replied,  _ can i call u? _

Eddie:  _ Shit sorry, I know it seems like I’m not doing any work, but I’m actually trying to. Gimme ten minutes? _

Richie:  _ k _

He sunk back onto the couch, struggling to keep it together. He didn’t know what he expected Eddie to do to get him through this, but he’d feel better after talking to him. He always did. 

Richie checked the time. It had been two minutes, but he wouldn’t make it much longer before raiding the minifridge of all its gulp-sized liquor bottles.

He texted Eddie,  _ It’s not for sex if that makes a difference _

He tapped out the hesitant beginnings to a few more texts.

_ I need to talk to you— _

_ Something happened— _

_ Please Eds— _

But he didn’t send them. Eddie replied before Richie resorted to begging.

Eddie:  _ Okay I have some time now _

Richie wasted no time calling him up.

“Hey, everything okay?” Eddie asked casually, the click-clack of his keyboard a comforting background noise.

Richie’s shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit hearing Eddie’s voice. He cleared his throat, trying to sound less of a wreck than he was. “Um, yeah, mostly, I just—I miss you.”

“Thought you said this wasn’t a sex call?” he replied doubtfully.

“It’s not.”

“Okay.” The sound of his typing petered off. “Where are you?”

“Uh, Phoenix? No, Salt Lake City.”

“You’re in Santa Fe, nice try,” Eddie corrected. “I can read your tour schedule, I was asking if you’re safe? You sound bad.”

Richie laughed wetly. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. What’s wrong?” 

Past that first night, Eddie didn’t bother backtracking. He rarely apologized. He worried about a lot of things, but offending Richie didn’t seem to be one of them. Eddie knew him too well.

Richie took a deep breath. “Kiki figured out I’ve been seeing you.”

“Oh.”

_ Oh.  _

Richie’s nails dug into his knee. “I was so stupid, Eddie. I was so obvious about it. I don’t know why—I knew better, I really did—”

“Richie, it’s okay—”

“This is what I get,” he rushed out, blinking back tears. “I brag about being a cocksucker, and this is what I fucking get—”

“Hey, no,” Eddie said firmly. “This isn’t your fault. What—what did she say? Is she telling people, is she blackmailing you—”

He coughed out a laugh. “No, she uh—she said she wouldn’t tell anybody.”

“Okay, that’s good,” he soothed. “It’s gonna be okay, then, right? She’s the only one who knows?”

“Yeah.”

“So nothing has to change if you don’t want it to. It’s just one more person knowing, it’s fine.”

Richie nodded against the phone

Nothing had to change. They could keep doing exactly what they were doing in private. That’s what he was worried about, right? That he’d have to deal with something new and horrible? But it could stay the same. Texting and calling and visiting Eddie every few months. 

And if people he knew in real life asked if he was in a relationship he’d say no, he was a wild stallion who refused to be tamed. He wouldn’t gush about Eddie, his cute uptight boyfriend in New York. He didn’t even know if that was a word he should be using.

“You’re not gonna try to buy another helicopter, are you?” Eddie’s worry shot straight through the phone line.

They both knew what he was really asking.

And if Richie didn’t have Eddie worrying about him, maybe he’d wanna hit up one of his sound guys to see if they knew where to get coke in whatever fucking city they were in.

But as it was, “No.”

“Are you sure?” Eddie asked.

“I mean, I’m definitely gonna get drunk off my ass, but I won’t do anything stupid. Promise.”

“You don’t need to spiral about this,” he insisted. “Everything’s gonna be okay. And I’ll be home soon, we can hang out, watch a movie—”

He said it like he’d be there. Like he wasn’t across the fucking country. 

Richie’s New York show wasn’t for another forty seven days. 

“No, it’s okay,” Richie forced out. “I’ll be okay.”

He needed to think. And cry, probably. Maybe hyperventilate a little, until he passed out in a drunken stupor. Maybe tomorrow he wouldn’t remember any of this.

“Richie, don’t lie to me.”

He pressed his forehead against his phone. “I’ll call you if I need you, okay?”

“You called me just now.”

Fuck, he was too smart for Richie.

But if they stayed on the line much longer, all of Richie’s thoughts and feelings would bubble into the open air, and he couldn’t be sure that wouldn’t scare Eddie away from him. 

“Well, I always need you, Eds,” he said softly.

Like that.

“I’ll be fine, I swear,” Richie tacked on quick. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m good.”

“Sure,” he started, clearly not convinced, “but I’m gonna send you some breathing exercises anyway. Can you do them before you start drinking?”

“Mm hm.” 

“Okay.” There was a long pause. “I’ll talk to you later. Right?”

“Yeah, baby,” Richie murmured. “Thank you.”

They said their goodbyes, but before they hung up, Eddie said, “Richie?”

“Yeah?”

He waited breathlessly for him to go on.

“Um.” Eddie paused again. “I’m glad you called me.”

He smiled, a little wobbly. “I’m glad you’re in my life.”

He heard Eddie swallow hard.  “Call me later. Promise?”

“Promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that was enlightening... 😬  
> Lemme know your thoughts!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad you all liked that dive into Richie's head! We're back with Eddie now.  
> Also -- I will probably be posting the first chapter of my sugar baby fic Monday night! So keep an eye out for that (still don't have a title, but it'll be stg sugar/sweet in nature bc i'm unoriginal 🙃) I'll be posting about it on Twitter, [@doeeyeskasprak](https://twitter.com/doeeyeskasprak) when I do.  
> Warnings for mention of drugs/alcohol, panic attacks

After Richie’s call, Eddie’s job held even less of his attention than usual. He sent Richie a couple follow up texts to check on him, which weren’t any deeper than _are you sure you’re okay?_ and Richie replying _yeah._

Which didn’t exactly inspire Eddie’s confidence, but he tried to convince himself that Richie was a grown ass man who didn’t need Eddie smothering him with attention. If he said he was okay, he was okay. He’d talk to Eddie if he needed him.

_‘I always need you, Eds.’_

When Richie said it, it made Eddie want to scream. It still did.

On his drive home, he expected a call from Richie, but didn’t get one.

After hearing nothing from him even after he’d eaten dinner, Eddie texted him saying he was home. Richie’s response was, _okay ill call yuo later_

Eddie didn’t like that.

And he didn’t like that he didn’t like it, because it wasn’t his business what Richie did with his time, even though he was probably getting blackout drunk in his hotel room.

Fuck, he _hoped_ Richie was keeping it to his hotel room. 

Eddie spent a few hours tensely watching five minute increments of various highly-rated shows on Netflix before finally, embarrassingly settling on one of Richie’s stupid fucking comedy specials.

He fell asleep on the couch waiting for Richie to call. 

Eddie was jolted awake by his phone ringing next to his foot. He swiped it off the floor, blearily reading the contact name ‘Comedic Associate’ before slapping his phone to his ear.

“Richie,” he croaked. 

“Hiya Eds.” It came straight from his throat, more a moan than anything. “Been thinking about you.”

“Fuck.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the crick he’d got from sleeping on the couch. “Are you okay?”

Richie breathed in his ear. “Yeah, baby, I’m good.”

Eddie was all too familiar with that tone of voice, so suggestive, needy. Despite having just woken up, interest pulled low in his stomach. Then he noticed how dark the night was outside his window, and he pulled his phone back to check the time. 3:42 AM. Jesus.

“You fucking better be,” he said. “You know it’s almost 4 AM here? What do you want?”

“You,” he said like it was obvious. (Because it was). “God, Eddie, I want you so bad. All the time.”

 _Want._ Want was different from need. Eddie could sigh and brush off the anticipatory shiver that ran through him at Richie _wanting_ him.

He slouched, rubbing at his eyes. “Then why didn’t you call me when I got home? I can’t do this right now, Rich, I’ve got work in four hours.”

“You hate your job.”

“So?”

“So quit.”

“And do what?”

“Move in with me.”

Which was nowhere close to being on the long list of responses he could’ve reasonably expected from Richie.

“Move in with you?” Eddie repeated, a little strangled.

“Yeah, I could be your sugar daddy. You don’t have to be all alone and miserable—”

Eddie shot up straight on the couch, as though he could make Richie rescind the offer as he was saying it. “I can’t—I’m a grown man, Richie. There’s no way—”

“Or get a job out here. There’s boring office jobs everywhere, Eddie.” Richie’s voice was a whine.

“No, no—I can’t.”

“Why not?” Richie sounded as tired as Eddie, but stubbornness was winning out.

“How are you asking me this?”

“You told me to stand up for what I want.” 

Fuck.

“I miss you, Eddie. When I’m not with you. I feel like—” He let out a shuddering breath. “You feel it too, right? Like we should be so much more than we are.”

All at once, Eddie was completely, horribly awake, thrust into the cold reality of the morning by more honesty than he could bear.

With infinite caution, he risked asking, “And what are we, Richie?”

“Living without each other. Eddie, I l—”

Eddie dropped the phone like it burned him. 

He couldn’t listen to the rest, because nothing he could say would be what Richie wanted to hear, which Richie must’ve fucking known because Eddie had just rejected his offer to _move in_ together, what the fuck.

With one finger, he flipped his phone over to check the screen. Richie was still on the line. Obviously.

Heart in his throat, Eddie picked up his phone to end the conversation. “Richie, stop. You’re drunk.”

“No. I’m also high.”

“On _what?”_

“Just weed.”

He massaged his temple. “Richie Tozier, you did _not_ call me drunk and high to beg for phone sex and ask me to move in with you when it didn’t work!”

“Really? ‘Cause that kind of sounds like what happened.”

He hated him. He hated him he _hated_ him—“I’m hanging up,” Eddie said tightly. “If you remember this tomorrow we can talk about it then.”

“Okay.” He paused. “I—”

“Fuck!” he yelped, scrambling to end the call. He pitched the phone across the couch where it couldn’t hurt him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. The both of them. It was four in the morning, what kind of conversation was that to have at four in the fucking morning?

He dropped his head in his hands.

The kind of conversation one might have if a coworker found out you’re gay and you weren’t, in fact cool with people knowing, and had spent all night getting fucked up trying to forget about it.

Eddie groaned. 

Because after all that, he’d hung up on him. What the fuck. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why was he fucking like this?

“Fuck,” Eddie spat, snatching his phone off the cushion.

Richie answered on the third ring. “Baby? I thought you hung up on me.”

“I did.” He took a deep breath. “Where are you?”

He groaned. “You know I don’t know the city—”

“Are you in your hotel room?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He stood up, dragging his ass to bed. “You’re—is there anyone else with you?”

“No. Wish you were here—”

“Drink some water and go to bed.”

“Why?”

“So I can sleep soundly knowing you’re not doing something stupid,” Eddie snapped.

“Told you I wouldn’t,” he mumbled, but obeyed Eddie’s instructions nonetheless.

Eddie talked him through stumbling around the bathroom for a glass of water, drinking that and bringing another one to bed.

“You know, if you were here you could do this for—”

“We’re not doing this right now,” Eddie said evenly. “Are you in bed?”

“Yes, baby. Snug as a bug in a—” He yawned. “Bug bed.”

Despite himself, Eddie smiled. “Thank you.”

He hummed into the phone, and was quiet for a moment. “Eddie?”

“What?” His heart started creeping toward his throat again. “Seriously, Richie, it’s late, just please—”

“Stay with me til I fall asleep?”

“Oh.” Much too soft for how annoyed he was, Eddie said, “Yeah, Richie. Of course.”

He made some tired, contented sound, and not much later, he started snoring.

Eddie stayed awake long after that.

Eddie was on his drive home from work the next day by the time he got more than his usual good morning text from Richie (at about two in the afternoon). A longer than normal, but not necessarily outrageous amount of time to go without really talking. Especially since Richie was probably hungover. Hungover enough, maybe that he’d forgotten the finer details of last night’s conversation all together.

When Eddie answered the call, Richie’s voice sounded like it had gone through a cheese grater.

“Hey,” Richie said.

Eddie’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Hi.”

The longer the silence between them stretched, the more certain Eddie grew that Richie absolutely _did_ remember last night, so the more anxiety swelled in his chest, expanding as Eddie held his breath. 

It all popped open with Richie, “You don’t even _like_ New York.”

Eddie exhaled loudly. “Richie—”

“Or your job, or your apartment—”

“That doesn’t mean it makes sense to move across the _country—”_

“Why not? What do you have there?”

Eddie snapped his turn signal on aggressively. “I’ve been with this company almost ten years—”

“Your sister branch is like half an hour away from my place.”

He shuddered. As _if_ he’d move to fucking California just to do the same damn job in a sunnier locale.

“Why do you even know that?” Eddie demanded. “Did you research during your drunken stupor?”

“I mean… yeah.”

Eddie rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious, you could just move in,” Richie continued. “I’ve got too much room all by myself anyway.”

“That’s your fault for buying an obnoxiously large penthouse.”

“C’mon, I think about you all the time, it would just be easier—”

“That’s not how this works.” Eddie made a slicing motion with his hand even though Richie couldn’t see him. “As someone who has shared a household with someone, trust me—it doesn’t make anything easier. It’s a lot of stupid little decisions that lead to fights, and you have nowhere to run because you fucking live together—”

“Dude, you hated your wife. You don’t hate me.”

But he did, for dangling this stupid, glittering future in front of him.

“You don’t think I could, if we moved in together?” Eddie challenged. “How dirty is your house?”

“I have a maid service.”

Eddie hated how much he liked the sound of that. 

“Some of my neighbours have personal chefs. I could get one, too, instead of ordering out all the time. Get everything custom-made to your tastes, heart-healthy and dairy-free.” His tone turned sultry, like he knew how appealing it all was to Eddie. “I could get a rain shower head installed—”

“Fuck, Richie, stop.” He squeezed his eyes shut at a red light. 

He could come home to Richie, wake up with Richie—not just once in a while, but every day. 

And it sounded like a dream, but his armpits pricked with sweat remembering being surrounded by Myra for over a decade without respite. It had been fine to start, but time had curdled their relationship indescribably sour. He didn’t even hate her, by the end of it, he just wanted nothing more than to never see her again.

A horn blared from behind him and he zoomed through the green light telling him to go.

“What if we have a fight?” Eddie asked. “What if we break up? Then I’m stranded in LA.”

“I could move to New York,” Richie offered suddenly.

His heart skipped a beat. “That’s not a solution!”

“I can get my own place. I’m sure Steve can find me something to do out there. It’s New York!”

And suddenly it all sounded a lot more doable. 

Except…

Eddie chewed the inside of his lip. “But I hate New York.”

“True, you do hate New York,” Richie said, all cajoling. “LA could be a nice change. And I’m rolling in it, remember? You won’t have to pay rent, you can just get a job and save up your money in case I do something dumb and you wanna dip.”

Eddie was not considering this proposition. Not at all. He couldn’t just up and leave his life—his apartment he hated and his job he hated in a city he hated. To be with Richie, who he didn’t hate. Who brightened his whole fucking existence.

Shit.

Shut up, no, one of them had to be sensible.

“This is too fast. We’ve known each other like four months.”

“And? We’ve talked like every day since we met.”

“Yeah, over the phone,” Eddie argued. “It’s not like we’ve been in a real relationship—”

“Then what—” 

“We barely know each other—”

“Are you joking?” Richie cut in sounding fucking blindsided, like the air had to be punched out of his lungs to ask the question. “We don’t _know_ each other? What don’t you know about me, Eddie? I’ll tell you.”

Eddie swallowed hard. That had been the wrong thing to say, which he’d known while he was saying it, but he wasn’t taking it back. He was right, in the grand scheme of things.

“You know what I mean,” Eddie said.

Richie let out a bark of laughter. “Uh, _no?_ Dude, I have no idea what the hell you’re saying to me right now.”

“I’m saying we shouldn’t move across the country to be together,” Eddie said, returning to his original point where he was comfortable. “It’s way too soon—”

“How long, then?” he asked. “How long until you deem it appropriate that we can see each other every day?”

“That’s…” He trailed off, because he couldn’t really say ‘that’s not what I meant’ when it’s exactly what he meant. “Don’t you like what we’re doing?”

Which was also the wrong thing to say.

“What _are_ we doing, Eddie?” Richie’s voice cracked. “If we’re not dating, and we don’t know each other, what label have you got slapped onto our relationship?”

Maybe Eddie should’ve thought about how saying the term ‘long-distance fuck buddies’ to Richie’s face would make him feel before now, because if he had, maybe he’d have realized how stupid he was for thinking that summed them up.

“You can at least admit it’s a relationship, right?” Richie said when Eddie didn’t answer.

“Yeah.”

“We’re in a relationship?”

Eddie’s heart thudded in his chest. “No.”

Richie let out a huff of air. Maybe a scoff. 

Eddie took a chance to pause. He hoped Richie would jump in to fill the silence, but he seemed to be practicing patience for once. 

“We’re…” Eddie said, “hanging out.”

“Hanging out?” he repeated, like he was trying it on for size. He seemed to accept it, because he continued, “Okay, well how would you like to hang out more often, in the same city—”

“Stop—”

“No, _you_ stop.” He groaned in exasperation. “You’re full of shit, Eddie, how’re you not even considering this—”

“I did consider it, last night—this morning, really,” Eddie corrected. “I couldn’t fall back asleep after your 4 AM failed booty call—”

“Look, I’m sorry—” 

“Yeah, obviously you know it’s a dick move now. But last night you were drunk. Because you freaked out that Kiki found out you’re gay,” Eddie laid it out plain as could be. Richie didn’t have a response for that, so Eddie went on, “So I thought about that, too.”

An incoming call lit up Eddie’s phone. He dismissed it with a jerky motion.

Richie was subdued when he replied, “So you’re pissed I was a pussy about it?”

“What? No, fuck—” Too much deflection, Kaspbrak! He jumped to reel it back. “I wish it hadn’t upset you so much, but it’s not your fault and I’m not mad. I still mean everything I’ve said about all that stuff, Richie, I’m serious. But I’m not pretending to be your—your—your butler, or personal trainer or whatever the fuck lie to explain why I’d be around all the time.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to anyone—”

“No? Not Steve? Not your celebrity buddies? The paparazzi? Twitter?” He scraped a hand through his hair. “Or are you planning to act like I don’t exist at all? That only works now because I’m across the fucking country.”

He was quiet for a moment. “So you’d only move if I came out?”

“When did I say that? No, Richie.” The same phone number came through with an incoming call and Eddie smacked his phone to ignore it. “You’re not listening to me—”

“No, I’m hearing you crystal clear,” he said. “ _I’m_ saying I wanna be with you, and _you’re_ saying no.”

Which knocked the wind out of Eddie.

“Because we’re not dating,” Richie continued bitterly. “And we barely know each other. Which is funny, because I feel like you know me too well, but maybe I don’t know you at all.”

Eddie blinked moisture away from his eyes. “That’s not fair.”

“No, no, me calling you in the middle of the night wasn’t fair. So I’m sorry for that. But you’ve had time to think, and your answer is for me to go fuck myself. That’s fine.”

“No it’s not, Richie, I—for god’s sake.” The same number called him for the third time. “Some asshole keeps calling me, I need to take this.”

After a stunned moment, Richie said, “Oh. Okay, wow… Bye, I guess—”

“No!” This conversation couldn’t finish while Richie was still mad at him. Or disappointed—or—or _sad._ The ease with which Richie was ready to get off the line unsteadied him; like if Eddie tried to call back, Richie might not answer. “Just wait, okay? Please?” 

Eddie paused for him, finger hovering over the accept call button.

Richie clucked his tongue. “Fine. Yeah, whatever you want.”

Which made his chest feel like it was clawed out with a shovel.

“I’m sorry. Just—it’ll just be a second, I promise. Just a second. And I’ll be home soon, okay? Just hang on.” He took the other call. _“What?”_

“Eddie Kaspbrak?” It was an unfamiliar voice. 

“Yeah, _what?”_ he snapped. He couldn’t care less who this was or what it was regarding. “You called me three times in a row, you know that? This better be important.”

“Unfortunately it is. This is Mike, Mike Hanlon.”

And Eddie could almost picture the smile behind the name, too wholesome and pure for its setting.

For some reason, it had him reaching for his pill bottle.

“Mike, okay. What do you want?”

“Now, I know you don’t remember me—”

He popped the cap of the pill bottle off with his teeth, one hand on the steering wheel. “Have we met? How would you know if I didn’t remember you?”

“I’m—I’m calling from Derry.” Mike’s words sent ice down his spine. “You have to come back.”

Eddie tossed back two pills straight from the bottle. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Mike chuckled, and it was warm, and Eddie wanted to be mad at him, but he wasn’t. Instead he was filled with a baseless bone-deep fear.

“We made a promise, remember?” Mike prompted. “A pact. You and me, Bill, Bev, Richie—”

“Richie!” The name ripped from Eddie in a gasp, a sudden, heart-rending recognition that hadn’t accompanied it in the months since the bar.

Bug-eyed glasses and a bucktoothed grin spouting foul jokes that stole laughter from Eddie’s lungs on bright summer days. Bad impressions and sticky hands he’d grab ice cream from, bony elbows poking his ribs in a hammock too small for two teens. An adolescence of constant back and forth, a desperate rhythm of cries for attention on both sides; _“Eddie, Eddie—Eds!” “Don’t call me that!” “Cute cute cute!” “Fuck off, Richie!” “You’re so gross, Richie!” “That’s not what your mom said last night.”_

A car horn blaring jerked him back from the onslaught of hidden memories.

“Shit!”

The front of his Escalade was jammed into the trunk of a taxi. 

Mike’s voice came through the phone. “Eddie, are you okay?”

“No, Mike, I’m not!” Eddie choked out. “What the fuck—what is this? Was I fucking dosed?”

“You… do you think I drugged you through the phone?” he asked in confusion.

“What in the goddamned fuck is happening here, dude?”

“You might not remember everything until you get here,” he said gently.

“Fuck! Fuck you, fuck!” He grabbed another pill off the seat beside him. “I’m sorry, not fuck you, I just—I gotta go.”

“Okay, call me if—”

With trembling fingers he switched the call back to Richie. “Richie Tozier,” he said shakily.

“Eds?”

“Don’t call me that,” fell out of his mouth in a hush. God, he’d said that so many times as a kid that it felt like a prayer to the god of performative irritation.

“Oh, get over yourself.”

Because he’d always liked it.

“Richie, where did you grow up?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just tell me. Where did you—”

“LA. What—”

“No.” Eddie shook his head, at Richie and the cabbie flipping him off from the street. “Not the lie you tell everybody. You said you grew up in a shitty town out east. Where?”

“Maine, what the fuck—”

Eddie swallowed past a dry throat. “Derry.”

His voice fell. “Why do you know that?”

“Mike just called.”

“Mike?”

“Mike from Derry.” He took a shuddering breath. Memories trickled in. “His grandpa homeschooled him on the farm. He was way too nice to hang out with us. His parents died in a fire—”

“Eds?” The nickname came with a gravity it never had before.

Eddie closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against his steering wheel. “It’s me.”

Richie didn’t respond immediately. “Why—what’s happening? What did you do?”

“What did _I_ do? You think I did this?”

“Like—like you said the secret codeword to wake a sleeper agent—”

Laughter bubbled out of Eddie hard enough to hurt his throat. His eyes were hot. “We have to go back.”

“Go back?”

“To Derry.”

“I’m gonna throw up,” Richie gasped. “For what?”

“Mike said,” was all the explanation Eddie could offer.

“Do you—do you remember?”

“Not enough,” Eddie said. “Mike said, when we get there…”

“I don’t—want to?” Richie said in a small voice. “I don’t think I want to remember.” Then, “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Eddie said. He’s turned into a raw nerve ending that experienced nothing but fear. It was familiar, in the most unsettling way. Like an embrace from his mother after he’d finally moved out. “I know, I’m sorry. And you’re on tour—”

“Fuck the tour, oh god, oh fuck.” A gasping sort of sound came down the line. If Eddie had to guess, Richie was dry-heaving. “I’m getting a call from fucking Maine.”

“Answer it,” Eddie said. “And then drink some water. I gotta go, I was in an accident.”

“What?” Richie’s voice jumped an octave. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Eddie—”

“I’ll call you.”

Time passed with a whirlwind of emotions Eddie couldn’t begin to come to terms with. He and Richie grew up together, they were best friends, they'd know each other _years._ Somehow. It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense.

For once in his life, Eddie did not meticulously fold his clothes as he packed, he just threw whatever he laid hands on into his suitcase while he had Richie on speaker, because he didn’t know how else he was supposed to do any of this.

“It’s a six hour drive versus a one hour plane ride,” Richie said. He was at the Sante Fe airport, trying to convince Eddie to let him buy him a plane ticket to Maine.

Eddie’s heart was beating so hard he was sure he was going to throw it up. “Plus two hours waiting at the airport, and the drive from Bangor to Derry. It’s basically the same amount of time.”

“No it’s not, Eddie. Come on, you were just in an accident, and you sound like shit, you shouldn’t be driving—”

“Yeah, because I’m about to have a fucking panic attack!” Eddie squeezed his toiletry bag, his outburst for some reason prompting a memory of him shouting in front of a projector in someone’s garage. “And you wanna put me on a plane? An enclosed space with strangers? And germs? And the germs of strangers? To drive a rental vehicle that who knows how many people have been in? Richie? Richie!”

“Okay, okay, I know. Can you do one of those breathing exercises you sent me?”

“I’ll do them while I drive! Just let me drive! I’m going to drive.” He chucked one more sweater into his bag and closed it with one sharp tug. “Richie.”

Eddie felt like someone else, like these memories were movies and he was watching some other twelve year old boy jump into a quarry with some other twelve year old boy named Richie.

“I’m here, baby,” Richie said softly. 

He shuddered as he sank to the floor next to his bed.

“Eddie, can I tell you something?”

“No,” he sniffled. “No, you really can’t.”

Silence stretched between them, probably full minutes. Eddie didn’t want to give up the last few moments of anything close to normalcy between them before they dove into the hell pit they’d left behind.

Richie broke the silence with, “Shit, my plane’s boarding.”

“Okay,” Eddie said, bereft in a vast ocean of unknowns.

“I’ll see you there?” he prompted. “I can’t do this without you.”

It struck Eddie, briefly, that they didn’t have to do this at all. Mike wasn’t the boss of them. They hadn’t even known who he was until he interrupted their fight.

“Eds?” 

Eddie forced himself to stand. “I’ll be there. Safe flight, Rich.”

_**End of Part One - New York** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ✌✌✌ buckle in folks, it's all downhill from here!


	14. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! I'm beyond ecstatic about the response for the last chapter! Thank you so, so much, it really means a lot to me!  
> To ease any worries, Eddie and Stan do not die in this fic. I know canon did them dirty, but I would never!  
> Also, I finally saw itch2 last week. It still has very little bearing on what happens in this story. Ex: Bowers does not show up. P sure he's dead idk who cares. Also Ben stays chubby, because weight loss isn't character development and also I love him.  
> As an fyi, I'm not capitalizing it when talking about the clown??? idk just feel like that's offering more respect than it deserves.  
> Anyway, please enjoy!!!  
> Warnings for non-graphic mentions of clown bullshit

**_Part Two - Derry_ **

The drive to Derry took forever, and yet not long enough for Eddie to arrive at an answer to what was happening. 

He passed billboards advertising dick pills that made Richie’s fivehead look like a tenhead, and he considered pulling over to take pictures, but if he stopped driving he might never get going again.

Finally, he reached the address of the restaurant Mike had texted him. The building looked old enough to have been there since he was a kid, but if it had still been a Chinese restaurant back then, his mom never would’ve let him eat here. She always said MSG would give him cancer.

Eddie backed up into a parking spot in case he needed to tear out of there later, and then didn’t move from the driver’s seat.

He almost called Richie asking how far away he was, but didn’t. God, this bullshit came at literally the worst time. What was he supposed to say to Richie when they saw each other again?

And why did he feel like they wouldn’t make it out of this town alive?

The two thoughts kept tangling in his head until his hands went numb gripping the steering wheel. 

Then he caught movement from the sedan parked beside him. A woman with a cloud of dark curls laid her hand on the driver’s shoulder, a lighter set of tighter curls topping the man’s head. His profile was sharp, and when the man turned to face her, his shrewd eyes and tight mouth plucked a chord of recognition deep inside Eddie.

He tumbled out of his car and very obnoxiously rapped on the passenger side window. “Stan?” He asked past the woman. “Stanley Uris?”

Stan, because of course it was, who else would be in this parking lot looking too tense for his own good and annoyed as hell at getting interrupted?

But then his eyes met Eddie’s and his face cleared. His flat “what the fuck” was muffled through the glass. He threw open his door.

Eddie rounded the car in a flash, and then they were standing in front of each other for the first time in over twenty years.

“Eddie!” Stan grabbed his shoulders, still taller than him, how couldn’t he be? He looked beyond exhausted, but his smile was blown wide. “Shit, look at you.”

“Look at you!” Eddie grabbed him in a hug, pressing his face against his shoulder. It was enough to ease the fear settling like silt in the back of his mind. They parted, and Eddie blurted the first thing that came to mind. “You still like birds?”

Stan’s nose scrunched up. “You still a hypochondriac?”

“Worse—better, maybe better than I used to be, I don’t know.”

The woman joined them, leaning against the car hood. She lifted a brow knowingly. “Can’t remember?”

Eddie nodded at her, hoping he hadn’t permanently forgotten one of his long-lost friends. “Who’ve we got here, Stan?” 

Stan held out an arm to her, and she slid into place, a perfect fit against his side. He drooped against her, like she was the support frame keeping him standing. “My wife, the apple of my eye and love of my life.”

Eddie shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, love of Stan’s life.”

“Patty,” she introduced herself with a smile. “And we go birdwatching all the time.”

Eddie smiled at the obvious affection the couple had for each other. “How long have you two been together?”

“Since college.”

“And still happy? Wow.”

Stan snorted. “Are you not happy, Eddie?”

“Oh, I got divorced, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Patty threw her head back and let out a rich, warm laugh.

“Your mom let you get divorced?” Stan asked, a teasing smile playing at his lips.

Eddie shook his head. “She didn’t want me getting married in the first place. Then she died, I married a carbon copy of her, divorced her, and now I’m gay!”

He spread his hands in some mockery of a ‘ta-da!’ 

“Wow,” Stan said with a nod as he took it all in. “Some of that is surprising and some of it is not, but. It’s good to hear you’re happy now, Eddie. You deserve it.”

Stan hugged him again, and Eddie swallowed down an incredulous burst of laughter. This was what he’d been missing every second since he’d left Derry. People he cared about, people he wanted to know and wanted to know him.

But he’d needed to leave, right? They’d all desperately been running from something, he was sure of it.

“Oh, hey.” Stan squeezed Eddie’s bicep as he pulled back. “That’s new. Must be a real draw on, uh, what’s that app called?”

Patty rolled her eyes. “Are you asking this man if he’s on Grindr, Stan?”

Eddie blushed, scoffing, “Shut up, what draw would I be on Grindr? I’m a risk analyst, for god’s sake.”

Stan nodded approvingly. “Ah, part of the boring jobs club. I’m an accountant.”

“Your friend Beverly Marsh is _the_ Beverly Marsh,” Patty said, clasping Stan’s elbow excitedly. “Of Marsh and Rogan Designs.”

“Bev,” Eddie remembered with a rush of affection. “My mom _hated_ her.”

“That’s a compliment,” Stan assured Patty. 

“I was googling you guys on the drive here,” Patty admitted. “You’re not famous, Eddie, did you know that?”

He laughed. “Yeah, I don’t mind it. You read up on Richie, though?”

They rolled their eyes in tandem.

“Richie fucking Tozier,” Stan said with a shake of his head. “I never would’ve guessed it, but I’m also not surprised.”

“He’s not funny,” Patty said easily.

“He is in person,” Eddie said.

Stan snorted. “You’re biased. You were always his number one fan. Or heckler. Same thing, back then.”

He started to argue on instinct, but a memory smacked him in the face—falling off the hammock in their clubhouse from how hard he laughed at something Richie said. He didn’t remember the joke, but it didn’t matter. It was one of a thousand times Richie had made him laugh hard enough he almost injured himself.

“Fuck, I was, wasn’t I?” Eddie said. 

Stan’s mouth twitched in amusement, and then he looked at Patty. “You liked his commercials though, didn’t you?”

“Where he compares his dick to an uncooked phyllo pastry?” She tilted her head to the side. “Yeah, that wasn’t bad, actually.”

“Same old Richie,” Stan said, with no small amount of fondness.

“I can’t believe we forgot each other,” Eddie said.

Stan’s face darkened, the lively spark fading from his eye. “I can.”

Before either Eddie or Stan’s wife (the love of his life) could respond, a red sports car ripped into the parking lot and swung into a space with no regard for the painted lines. 

Eddie had never seen Richie drive before, but he knew it was him. 

As expected, Richie staggered out, a gangly mess of rubbery limbs topped with wild-looking hair that had clearly been ravaged by his hands. 

Eddie was seeing years of him all at once; the teenager, the adolescent, the child he used to know, all hiding within the adult Richie like a Russian nesting doll. His chest lurched, as though his heart was trying to leave him and give itself to Richie. His breath must’ve managed the journey, because Eddie couldn’t find it for the life of him.

The three of them stared at each other, dumbfounded to all suddenly be in the same place.

Richie’s gaze stuck on Eddie for a lingering moment, as heavy as if he were cradling his face from across the parking lot. But he didn’t. He dragged his attention to Stan, and that measure of restraint told Eddie everything he needed to know. 

Richie didn’t fling himself at Eddie like every other time they’d seen each other since the bar, so they weren’t telling the losers they’d reconnected long before now. Richie probably wasn’t coming out to them. They certainly weren’t sharing that Richie had invited Eddie to move in with him yesterday, and had only been prevented from declaring his love for Eddie through Eddie’s sheer force of will. 

Eddie understood. Everything was a lot right now. Adding more stress and complications to the mix would just make it harder to handle.

It still hurt.

Patty broke the stunned silence. “Shit, you’re tall.” 

Richie finally noticed her. “Who the fuck are you?”

Stan wrapped his arm back around her. “Watch your mouth around my wife, Trashmouth.”

Richie sauntered up to them, forcibly casual as he waggled his eyebrows. “Shouldn’t it be you watching my mouth around your wife?” He stuck his tongue out and lifted his fingers in a V, but by that point he was close enough for Eddie to smack his hand down.

“This is the first time you’re meeting this woman—”

“That’s why I wanna make a good first impression.” He saved a quick, aching look at Eddie, and then winked at Patty.

Stan sighed. “I told you he wasn’t funny.”

But he was saying it over Patty’s clear laughter. “I’m Patty.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Eddie and Stan said at the same time.

“You said he was funny,” Patty argued, jabbing a finger at Eddie.

Richie’s eyes landed on Eddie again, and the attention burned. That’s Richie. Richie Tozier. He dragged Eddie to the arcade when no one else would go. Eddie kept extra bandages in his fanny pack just for Richie’s skinned knees. They had races to prove who was fastest, they hocked loogies to see whose would go farther, they had arm wrestling competitions as an excuse to hold hands.

Eddie fucked him so good he cried.

“Did ya now, Eds?” Richie’s voice was softer than he probably meant for it to be.

“Don’t call me Eds,” Eddie replied by rote, like they were back in the clubhouse, back in high school, back in Eddie’s room while his mom dozed on the recliner downstairs.

Stan mouthed it along with him, clearly a memory worn into the grooves of his brain as well, and it made Patty laugh again. Luckily, hers was a welcoming laugh, one that warmed you from the inside out.

Then Richie’s hand was on Eddie’s arm, and Eddie collapsed against his chest into a long-awaited hug. His fingers twisted in the back of his shirt, absorbing as much closeness as he could even if he couldn’t cling to him for half as long as he wanted to.

Eddie pulled back, feeling woozy with the sensation of seeing double again. Two of Richie. Little and big, young and old. Your mom jokes and dick jokes and kisses and dirty sexts. He was gonna get a fucking headache.

Richie grabbed Stan in a hug as well. “Stan the Man.”

“Oh, I forgot all the nicknames,” Stan groaned, but easily let Richie dwarf him with love.

Richie deserved this. He’d said his charm was an acquired taste, and the losers had acquired it long ago. 

Eddie’s expression had maybe turned too fond, because he saw Patty smiling at him. 

He ducked his head, clearing his throat, and suggested they get a move on.

Richie kept an arm around Stan’s shoulders and hooked the other around Eddie’s. He grinned, a bit wobbly, and led them toward the restaurant. 

Now would normally be the time Eddie started up an internal mantra about how _fine_ everything was going to be, but the words rang hollow as he tried to repeat them. He couldn’t lie to himself, because the bones of him held knowledge he couldn’t quite remember. 

All he knew was that it was _not_ going to be fine.

Walking into the back room of the restaurant filled with the rest of the losers was like walking into another life. Suddenly Eddie had friends, like they’d been there all along. It knocked the breath out of him.

He saw Bev first. Stunning as ever, but the bruises circling her wrists and clinging to her eye made him wonder if she’d been here longer than them, if she’d already picked a fight with dangers he couldn’t recall. But she greeted Mike and Bill like she hadn’t seen them in years, just like everybody else, and Eddie was reminded that monsters didn’t just live in Derry.

Richie fucking pounced on her.

“Beverly fucking Marsh!” He hugged her, he squeezed her, he kissed her head like when they were kids, and she laughed and held him just as tight.

Stan leaned in closer to Eddie, voice low. “Kinda expected you to get the same reaction from Richie, if I’m being honest.”

Eddie looked at him, startled. “Why?”

“You guys were always like that. Unless you grew out of it after I moved?”

He shook his head faintly. “Not really…”

Richie attacked Ben next, who’d filled out. Still broad and sturdy, but the weight sat more confidently with him than back in high school. His face when he looked at Bev over Richie’s shoulder though, that was the same.

And then Bill slipped past Bev to greet Eddie, and just seeing his face instilled Eddie with a baseless sense of relief. He’d been a kid just like the rest of them, but you’d have never convinced them that Bill couldn’t make miracles happen. 

“Eddie, oh my god. Hey, buddy!”

Eddie pulled Bill in, taking comfort in his presence. “I’m so happy to see you, man.”

Bill clapped him on the back. “You too, Eddie. God, you look good! Are you g-g-good?”

“Before all this, absolutely.” Eddie gave Bill’s face a second look, and then gave him a little shake. “Wait, what the fuck—I’ve read your book.”

He grinned, a little embarrassed. “What did you think of it?”

“It was good until the ending. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Ben walked up to them. “I thought it was appropriately melancholy.”

“You’ve always been too nice.” Eddie yanked him into a hug, too. 

Ben’s embrace triggered a chain of memories; of Eddie seeking Ben out in the wake of whenever Richie said something abnormally stupid. Ben always listened to Eddie rant through his feelings—from pissed to frustrated to hurt, for whatever reason.

Impartially, Ben still gave the best hugs, though Eddie always preferred Richie’s growing up, despite the excess of bony elbow. And he squeezed too tight on purpose, like he was proving Eddie could handle it, handle him.

Ben dragged him back to the present by asking, “How was the drive?” 

It took Eddie a second to respond. “What? You haven’t seen me in years, and you’re asking about my drive?”

“You had a panic attack during your first driver’s test.” Ben shrugged, then he pointed out the window. “And that’s your banged-up Escalade, right?”

“What the hell?” Bev asked, joining them. She drew Eddie in, smoothing a steady hand down his back. “Why is Eddie Kaspbrak getting into an accident with an Escalade the most shocking thing I’ve heard today?”

Eddie breathed in her grown-up perfume. She’d graduated from sugary body mist to something elegant and expensive-smelling. New, and yet still entirely Bev. 

He offered her a smile. “Can I try to one up it, Bev?”

She winked at him. “Only if it’s good news. Just for a little longer.”

“I’m gay,” he said.

Her mouth fell open the tiniest bit before it spread into a smile. “Oh, sweetheart. That’s—can I say?” She cupped his face in her hands. “I’m so proud of you.” 

She wrapped him in another hug, tighter than the first.

Richie and Eddie’s gazes met over her shoulder. 

This was easier than he ever thought it would be. Being honest. He hoped Richie saw that, internalized it—but it was different, Eddie knew. He was relieved to finally have friends that it would _mean_ something to share himself with. Richie didn’t want anybody knowing at all.

“What about the being married to a woman thing, is that more surprising?” Richie offered to Bev.

“Who?” Bev asked.

Eddie pointed to himself. “Married for too long. Divorced. Came out.”

Bev squeezed his arm. “See, that sounds like a story I need to hear.”

“So we’re just moving right past the banged-up car, huh?” Ben said.

Eddie waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, whatever, I got a bit distracted when…” He looked around the room to find Mike half-hiding behind Bill, who was talking animatedly to Stan and Patty. “Mike! Mike Hanlon!” He waved him over.

Mike approached with a bashful little smile on his face. He’d filled out by the end of high school, farm work really lending a hand through puberty, so it was no surprise that he looked this good now. He just looked older, softer. More mature.

“Shit,” Richie blurted. “You’re hot. You’re all so hot, what the fuck happened to me?”

“Just iron your clothes and quit slouching,” Eddie snapped for the umpteenth time.

And then it all came back to him in a horrible burst—bullies mocking Richie’s glasses, his braces, his greasy hair. Richie complaining about his own knobbly knees, his scrawny shoulders, the fucking acne that hit him like a truck during puberty. Voice cracking in front of girls he was trying to flirt with, adding fuel to the fires of their derision.

Richie couldn’t have remembered the details, but he’d still managed to haul all those insecurities well into adulthood.

Eddie was stuck still as a cardboard cutout processing it all. But everyone had been having similar pauses, like computers lagging through a big download, so no one took much notice.

Except Richie. 

How was Eddie not supposed to kiss him right now? How did Richie expect him not to stop this reunion in its tracks and try to convince him for the hundredth time how attractive he was? And more than that, his inherent importance beyond his appearance.

“Sorry, Eddie,” Mike said, drawing his attention away from Richie. “Did I call you while you were driving?”

“Oh, everybody shut up about my car, I don’t care about my car.” He had to reach up on his toes to hug Mike properly. Only Bill was the correct fucking height around here. 

It took Mike a second to respond, but then he held on so tight he probably bruised Eddie’s ribs.

“I missed you, Eddie.”

Eddie landed back on his heels, leaving his hand on Mike’s shoulder as he looked up at his face. There was no startling recognition from Mike. Because he’d called them here.

“You remembered us,” Eddie said. It wasn’t a question.

Mike nodded.

“You—fuck, were you here the whole time?” 

The horror that had been building in his stomach since Mike called reared its ugly head, but Eddie still couldn’t put his finger on what, specifically, terrified him about Mike being alone in Derry all these years.

He couldn’t bear to know, so he didn’t ask.

Bill did.

“So what’s going on, Mikey?” 

Mike’s face dropped, the tentative hopefulness dissolving at the reminder that this wasn’t some high school reunion. He’d asked them back here for a reason.

“Hey, I’m starving!” Richie blurted into the responding tension. “Can we at least order some orange chicken before we shit our pants?”

Eddie laughed in relief.

“Yeah, I haven’t eaten yet either,” Stan agreed. His knuckles around Patty’s hand were bone-white. 

Richie tossed himself into one of the dining chairs, grabbing a menu without waiting for agreement from anyone else. He draped an arm across the back of the chair next to him, and that’s where Eddie sat.

Stan took the seat next to Eddie, Patty next to him, then Bev. The girls in Derry had been so cruel to her, but she’d found friends in Portland, and she complained every once in a while about being the only girl in the group when she visited the losers. She finally got her wish.

Ben, obviously, sat next to her. Then Bill, casting looks at Bev as well but not for half as long or as hopeful as Ben. Finally, Mike sat between Richie and Bill. He was looking at them all, with all the hope of Ben but twice as desperate.

“How about some wine for the table?” Richie suggested. “I can do a bottle by myself, how many do the rest of you need?”

“You are not drinking a bottle of wine by yourself,” Eddie said flatly.

He winked. “You wanna share?”

And Eddie fucking hated him in that moment. Because next to him, Stan was holding onto Patty like she was his life support, and that was all Eddie wanted to do with Richie, because something was wrong, and they all knew it, it was seeping out of their pores, but Eddie didn’t get to seek comfort from Richie.

But Richie still got to wink at him.

“Yeah, get us a red,” he said, standing. “I’m going to wash my hands.”

He left their private dining room without another word, weaving through the half-full main restaurant crowded with people who lived in Derry. They reminded him of his mother. It made his skin crawl.

The bathroom door swung shut behind him the same moment it occurred to him that his mother had been even more awful than he’d previously understood. All the shit she pulled in Derry—it was the same shit she pulled after they moved, and it worked on him all over again because he forgot. Had she forgotten, too?

One dinner stuck out to him—not a memory Derry made him forget, just one that didn’t make sense until now. His mom had mentioned in passing his ‘horrible little friends’, and Eddie had been very confused, and said ‘what friends?’ because he didn’t have any, even after five months in their new town. She’d paused, as if she’d complained on instinct, and couldn’t list any concrete reasons why his make-believe friends were so horrible. And then she’d smiled. Smiled at her son having no friends.

He hated her with every fibre of his being.

The door swung open, and Eddie rounded on who he assumed was Richie. “And _you—”_

But it was Mike.

Eddie sputtered out of steam. “—oh, sorry. I thought…”

Why hadn’t Richie come after him?

It was the same string of thought he’d had so often growing up. _Where’s Richie? When’s Richie gonna get here? Where’d Richie wander off to now?_ Always with that thin veneer of irritation, as if he wasn’t so keenly aware of Richie’s absence just because he missed him. 

Eddie swallowed thickly.

“No, I’m sorry,” Mike was saying. 

Eddie wasn’t listening. “Mike, I feel twelve years old again.”

Wondering why Richie wasn’t giving him the exact type of attention he wanted exactly when he wanted it.

Eddie blinked back tears. Barely two days ago, he’d been so sure of where he stood with Richie. It wasn’t ideal, but he’d never imagined it would be anything more, either. And then Richie drunk-dialed him and tipped their relationship on its side. And then Mike called, and it all turned upside down.

Had he been crushing on Richie since he was _twelve?_

“Yeah?” Mike asked. “That’s when we all met, do you remember?”

Eddie nodded, covering his face with his hand. The memory rattled through him hollow and brittle, grittier than the others. “Yeah, I—the rock fight. Shit, we threw fucking _rocks_. We were little demons, weren’t we?”

“It was tough times.”

Tough enough to throw rocks. Shit.

Eddie washed his hands using the cheap Softsoap dispenser with a picture of a fish on it. “Sorry, you didn’t come in here just to check on me, did you?”

“Yeah, actually.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted to apologize, I guess. I didn’t think any of you would actually show up.”

Over the sink, Eddie dug his thumb into the scar on his palm. “We agreed to it, didn’t we? We made a pact.”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “But that was a long time ago. And you don’t know what happened.”

“It’s important?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah.”

Eddie met his eye in the cracked mirror. “It’s fucked up, too. That’s obvious enough from us getting squeegied off each other’s brains after we left. But we’re together now, right? Whatever happens, we’ve got each other. I missed you too, man.”

A relieved smile cracked through the worry on Mike’s face. “Yeah, man, alright. Thanks.”

As they returned to their table, Eddie tried to take what he’d said to Mike to heart—that being together was what mattered. Even if he and Richie were going through it, it was better than the almost thirty years Eddie spent not knowing who he was.

Richie’s eyes were on him as soon as he was back in the room, but Eddie still couldn’t guess how he wanted Eddie to look back at him tonight.

The unknowable expression on Richie’s face switched to a grin as he lifted a shot glass. “Shots? Unless you’re too pussy for tequila.”

Seven other shots sat in a circle around the table, surrounding three wine bottles, assorted beers, brown liquor in a tumbler for Richie, and a Piña Colada for Eddie.

Eddie grabbed the shot from Richie’s fingers and tossed it back. He hissed through the burn coating down his throat. 

“Put up or shut up, Tozier,” he wheezed. Since that’s how Richie wanted to act.

It was good for a while, catching up. Eddie had _friends_. His chest expanded like a hot air balloon with the amount of care and affection he had for these people.

And of course there was Richie. As the drinks flowed and their conversations grew louder, Eddie found it harder and harder to keep his hands off him. Richie didn’t even seem to be _trying._ But that’s how it had always been, hadn’t it? Wrestling for fun and grabbing for attention and slapping Richie’s glasses off his face with his foot. God, he’d been so obvious.

He was _still_ so obvious.

They’d finished eating, and the fortune cookies were delivered. Eddie’s hand was still clasped loosely in Richie’s after their arm wrestle. That’s when Mike took the floor to finally fill in the blanks of their memory.

Richie’s palm turned slick against his, and then slipped out of Eddie’s entirely as Mike kept talking.

Eddie wanted to take Richie’s hand back, grab his wrist, shoulder, anything. He wrapped his fingers in the sleeve of Stan’s cardigan instead. 

Stan flinched, knocking over the glass of water he’d ordered after two glasses of wine.

“Sorry.” Eddie’s face heated. “Sorry, Stan I didn’t—”

“No, no, sorry, no—” Stan hurried to throw a napkin over the spilled water. His chair scratched the floor as he pushed away from the table. “I can’t—I can’t do this again. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Stan, it’s okay,” Bill said. “We stopped it once, we’ll do it again.”

Eddie shook his head. “We didn’t stop it, though, did we? It’s back.”

Stan pointed a trembling finger at him in agreement. “Exactly, it’s back, and it wants us dead just like last time, and I can’t—”

Patty stroked his back reassuringly. At a murmur, she soothed, “Baby, it’s okay, just breathe.”

Eddie couldn’t even glance at Richie in his periphery. 

“Maybe it’s not back,” Ben said hopefully. “Maybe it’s something else—”

“If it walks like an evil clown, quacks like an evil clown, kills like an evil clown—” Richie cut himself off and gestured at Mike. “Right? You said it’s already started its murder spree?”

Mike nodded, gaze flicking momentarily to Eddie before jumping back to Richie. “A gay couple was attacked at the kissing bridge. One of them didn’t make it—”

Horrified, vaguely hysterical laughter bubbled out of Eddie. “Anybody could’ve done that, though. Anybody in this town.”

But he believed Mike with a deep, dark dread. They hadn’t done anything but push a bully down a well, and now it was back.

Ben tried to argue with Eddie without appearing dismissive, and Bev told him to stop, and Bill said they’d taken an oath, while Stan pleaded with Patty as though she could make it all stop. 

Eddie wondered if it knew he’d come back one day, gay and out of the closet. Had it known about him back then, too?

A slimy memory dripped into his consciousness: _I’ll blow you for a quarter, kid. I’d do it for a dime._

It knew. It knew well before Eddie did.

“Eds,” Richie said gently, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Eddie shook him off, because he couldn’t deal with that, whatever he and Richie were in the middle of, on top of _this._

“This is too much, it’s too much—” He grabbed his pills out of his jacket—he’d poured whatever had landed on his passenger seat back into the bottle before he’d started the drive—but Richie nabbed them before he could pop the cap.

“Not with alcohol—”

“Dude, I will rip your hands off if you don’t give that back—”

On the table, the water-soaked napkin shifted. 

And a fortune cookie wriggled out.

Once it became excruciatingly clear to everyone that it was well and truly back, they spilled into the parking lot like a pack of lost children, all talking over each through denial and bargaining, tripping over the steps of grief, even though they hadn’t lost anything—they’d been given it all back. The horrors of their childhood, the monumental obligation of knowing the truth. 

Eddie was both entirely too sobered and dizzy with fear.

Somehow, Bill was talking like his world hadn’t been shaken. Eddie caught fragments of, “Okay, Mikey, what’s the g-g-game plan here?” and “That motel down the road” and “Tomorrow we’ll do—” and “Richie, where are you going?”

Richie was halfway to his car already. He tossed over his shoulder, “Eduardo, ándale, let’s go!”

Eddie almost tripped in his haste to follow. Yeah, he’d follow safety, he’d follow Richie. He’d leave behind his busted-up Escalade and take off with Richie in his stupid sports car with high insurance premiums and they could go, and be gone, and forget this place all over again.

“To the motel?” Ben asked in confusion.

“Uh, yeah, Benjamin, the motel,” Richie replied with a roll of his eyes. “See you there in a jiff!”

“Eddie!” Mike called. “Eddie, please! You said it yourself, we made a pact.”

Eddie stuttered to a stop. “Mikey, I—c’mon, dude.” His voice sounded small even to his own ears. “You can’t make me do this again.”

Richie started tugging him along again, but that’s when Bev yelled, “Stop!” 

They both paused, and turned in tandem to face Beverly Marsh.

She jogged up to them, leaving the others standing awkwardly by Mike’s truck, with Patty and Stan slightly off to the side. Stan looked two seconds from tearing out of here, too.

“You can’t be serious,” Bev said to Eddie and Richie. “After everything we’ve been through, you can’t just leave.”

“Sure we can,” Eddie argued.

Richie jerked a hand at the group. “We all can. We can leave and forget this ever happened.”

Eddie nodded encouragingly. “Wasn’t that nice? Not remembering?”

 _“No,”_ Bev said. Eddie felt slightly chagrined, which was probably the point. But that wasn’t enough to make him face his childhood fears all over again. “We’re not going anywhere, we just got here—”

“And I already almost died,” Richie said.

“Those weren’t real.”

“It _gets_ real,” Eddie said. “Real enough to break my arm. Tear Ben’s stomach open. Almost rip Stan’s face off. You remember, right? How we all nearly died?”

“But we didn’t,” Bev said, eyes bright. “Because we were together. If you leave—”

Eddie caught movement out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t follow it, because he knew exactly who it was.

Bev saw anyway. “Stan!”

Fifteen feet across the parking lot, it was Patty who turned around, arm hooked around her husband’s back. “Oh, uh, we just forgot something in the car, we’ll be right back!”

“Stanley,” Bev begged. She looked at Eddie and Richie. “You guys, give me five minutes. Just listen to me, please.”

Stan and Patty reluctantly joined them, and Bev waved Ben, Bill and Mike over, too. 

Bev explained her nightmare visions where they all died horrible, ghastly deaths, and that maybe, if they stuck together, fate wouldn’t bring her nightmares to fruition. When Stan asked why the fuck that was happening to her, Mike chimed in with deadlights talk and metastasizing viruses, and Bill nodded as Mike laid everything out, completely enraptured. 

Eddie was running risks and percentages in his head trying to justify still leaving with Richie.

Richie just said, “Who are you now, Carrie?”

“Carrie couldn’t see the future,” Ben pointed out. 

Richie tapped the side of his head. “Had red hair, though.”

“No she didn’t,” Stan argued.

“She did at the end,” Eddie said.

Stan frowned. “What?” 

Eddie pointed up. “With the blood?”

Richie nodded, and Patty gave them all a strange look before saying to Bev, “It’s like any other psychic vision though, right? The decisions you make now can change the outcome? You can plan better and beat it?”

“Maybe,” Bev said, as if she weren’t the one with a history of magical premonitions. “But I know we’re strongest together.”

“I’m not seeing the problem,” Richie said. “We can all leave!”

But Eddie knew where this was going.

Bev drew her shoulders back, determination flowing through the hard lines of her body. “I’m not going anywhere, Richie.”

Ben stepped up next to her. “Neither am I.”

“Guys,” Mike said, the intensity in his eyes gleaming in the parking lot lights. “Please. I’ve spent all these years researching—I have a plan. We can beat it this time, I know we can.”

Bill grasped Mike’s shoulder, gave him a nod before looking to the rest of them. “D-d-don’t you think we owe this to ourselves? To the children of Derry? To Georgie?” His voice dipped before he lifted his chin. “I’m not going anywhere until we put an end to this story.”

Eddie took a steadying breath, leaning ever so slightly into Richie’s side.

Shakily, almost tentatively, Richie started, “Well, don’t go blaming your poor life decisions on me—”

“Rich,” Eddie said at a mutter.

Richie looked at Eddie, searching for an out he couldn’t give.

Eddie couldn’t abandon his only friends to die just to forget them all over again. If they couldn’t win without him, then he’d fight by their side. Just like when they were kids.

Richie closed his eyes. “Fine.”

“Fine you’ll stay?” Bev asked, quick enough that even if he’d been planning to continue, she’d have cut him off.

He sucked his teeth with a nod. “I get why you always hated being the voice of reason now, Stan. It sucks!”

Bev passed over Eddie with a nod, and he nodded back, not having to say anything, because she knew, and he knew _—everybody_ knew—that he and Richie were a package deal.

Stan glared at them like they’d broken some unspoken promise, even though they were only honouring the pact they’d made when they were twelve.

“I need to talk to my wife,” Stan said in response to Bev’s expectant face.

They drew away again, and Eddie was half-sure that they were gonna make a run for Stan’s car, but they huddled in the shadows and spoke in hushed tones. 

Richie twirled his key ring around his finger. After a moment, he said, “Got any winning lottery numbers?”

Bev sent him a withering look.

“You’re such a fucking idiot,” Eddie grumbled.

“If we get you a crystal ball, will that focus your visions?”

“She’s not a fortune teller in a dumb cartoon, Rich.”

Richie lifted a brow at Bev. “But have you ever _tried_ a crystal ball?”

Stan’s voice rose reedily, drawing their attention. “Tell me to leave, Patty!”

“I can’t make that decision for you,” she answered, and then they both went quiet again.

Eddie sighed. “If I’m staying, I need a shower. Let’s get to this fucking motel.”

They ended up at the same rundown motel—the only appropriate adjective for any building in Derry. They huddled in the lobby and booked rooms one by one, waiting for everybody else to get a room before dispersing, sticking together like on a field trip.

Stan and Patty had talked it out, and for some reason decided to stay. They stepped up to reception together, because they were a couple and so would be sharing a room.

Made sense.

Richie and Eddie’s eyes kept meeting and then ripping away from each other.

The last time Eddie had been alone in a hotel room was right after he left Myra. Single and staring down the barrel of a long lonely life ahead of him.

After five straight minutes of looking-not-looking- _looking,_ Eddie received a text from Richie, _I’ll pay for your room._

And.

Eddie didn’t know how to respond to the offer, nor the plummet his stomach took after reading it.

So he just stepped up to the check-in desk and slapped his own credit card on the counter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you missed it, I have the first chapter of my sugar baby au up, [sweeter by the hour.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24381724/chapters/58807747) This fic will continue to be my main focus until it's finished, though.  
> Please let me know your thoughts on this chapter!! I love hearing from you even if I can't respond to every comment.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm so glad you guys are liking where I'm taking this Derry journey!  
> Warnings: brief mention of Stan's attempted suicide, alcohol use

Eddie closed the door to his single-person motel room alone. The ugly wallpaper and worn carpet were so incomparably different from the places he’d been with Richie that he could almost convince himself not to yearn. 

He set his suitcase on the dresser, not unpacking, so he could be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

He took a long shower, but the tile was so covered in soap scum and grime that it did little to settle his nerves. He brushed his teeth, chugged a bottle of water, and then changed into loose sweatpants and a T-shirt.

When he, by all accounts, was ready to lie down and rest after a very full day, he sat on the stiff mattress in resounding silence.

“This is stupid,” he said aloud. 

Eddie didn’t want to be alone. If Richie didn’t want the others to know they were together (though the thought gutted him like a rusty knife to a fish), that was fine. Eddie had friends now. Again. 

Ben was an architect. Bill was a fucking author. Bev was an apparently famous fashion designer. He wanted to know how they all made their lives their own, how they’d got it so right. Or at least right on the surface. He made a note to give Bev the number of his divorce lawyer.

And Mike. Fuck, he’d stayed, alone, this whole time. And dragged them all back just like Bill had made them promise to. Couldn’t he have left? Why didn’t Mike just fucking leave, and then nobody would remember anything?

That way, Richie and Eddie could still be fighting about whether they should make their long-distance non-relationship a short-distance real relationship, instead of trying to reconcile their entwined traumatic pasts with the present.

Forcing himself to action, Eddie shot off the bed and opened his door. 

An empty hallway greeted him. He didn’t know where anybody but Richie was staying, or if they were even currently in their rooms.

“Hello?” he said, feeling stupid. That didn’t stop him from repeating it ten seconds later when no one responded. “Hello!”

The motel room door down the hall opened, and Stan stuck his head out. “Who are you talking to?”

Eddie pointed at him and crossed the hall. “You. Can I come in? Or we could get a coffee, or—”

Stan jerked his thumb over his shoulder with a sigh. “Get in here, Kaspbrak.”

Eddie scurried in quick like Stan was going to change his mind. 

The room was nearly identical to Eddie’s, except the neutral painting on the wall was of the ocean instead of a field, and there were two suitcases on the floor at foot of the bed.

Stan had changed into a flannel robe over his pajamas, clearly ready to settle down for the night. Eddie wouldn’t bother him for long, just until his thoughts quieted a little.

“Where’d Patty go?” Eddie asked, because if he’d brought someone uninvolved in all of this to Derry, he wouldn’t let them out of his sight. 

“Bev wants to give her some designer clothes she brought with her. She’s doing alterations with her right now, I guess.” He rolled his eyes. “I would say it’s a shitty use of our time, but it’s not like we have anything better to do, right?”

Eddie shrugged a nod. “Except getting a good night’s rest, I guess.”

“Like any of us can sleep.” Stan sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped primly in his lap, posture straight as ever. 

“But you’re staying?” 

He nodded. “Against all sense of self-preservation.”

Eddie sat down next to him, in a mirror image of how he’d just been in his own room. But he wasn’t alone, and that was all he needed. He didn’t really have anything to say. Or maybe he had too much, and he just couldn’t pin down any one idea well enough to express it. 

Stan asked, “Did you—have you done any therapy?”

Eddie frowned. “Do I seem like I have?”

“Oh, if you’d gone to therapy and were still acting like this, I’d suggest you get a refund.”

“Dick.”

He knocked his shoulder against Eddie’s good-naturedly. “Really, though. You said you married a woman just like your mom. Did you divorce her all on your own?”

“Uh,” he scratched the back of his neck, “yeah.”

Stan nodded. “I’m impressed.” He drummed his fingers against his knee. “I don’t know how I’m gonna talk about this stuff with my therapist. She knows when I’m lying.”

“That sounds horribly invasive.”

“Not being able to lie is horribly invasive?”

Eddie looked down, avoiding his eye, and caught a streak of rusty copper next to the bed. He leaned closer despite himself. Lining the bottom of a trash can was a pile of gauze stained with undeniable spots of dried blood.

He turned back to Stan, remembering the way he’d flinched when he grabbed his wrist at the table. His body turned cold.

Stan’s eyes flicked to the trash before he closed them. He tugged his robe sleeves further down his wrists. “I was doing well, you know? Were you doing okay? Before this?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said softly. “Best I’ve been in a long time.”

Stan, surely, had been doing even better. He always seemed so solid, so steady. Like he had everything worked out.

Stan nodded, gaze fixed on a small tear in the ugly orange carpet. “Every day, I wake up with my beautiful wife who kisses me even with morning breath, and I go to work at a job I love, and I come home and make dinner for the love of my life. On the weekends we go bird-watching, or do puzzles, or whatever the fuck we want, really. A pair of our friends are getting married next month, Patty’s a bridesmaid.” He tightened the belt of his robe. “I have a good life. But I was gonna throw all that away after Mike’s call.”

Eddie stared at his covered wrists for a long moment. Then he stared at Stan’s face, the dark bags under his eyes, the way his curly hair fell flat.

His heart raced, adrenaline spiking over an emergency already past that he couldn’t have done anything to stop in the first place.

“You should go,” Eddie said, voice wavering.

“Go where?”

“Why did you even come?” Eddie rubbed a hand over his face. “Jesus, Stan—go home. Take Patty and go home to your life.”

“Bev says we’d die anyway.”

“Not if you leave. It can’t follow you—”

“Yeah, it will. All of this?” He waved a hand through the air. “Doesn’t matter if I forget, I’ll still feel it. You—you felt it too, didn’t you? Before?”

Eddie dropped his gaze. “I blamed it on my mom. Turns out it wasn’t all her, but she was still shittier than I remembered.”

Stan clicked his tongue. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, “I was asking more about when you reconnected with Richie.”

“Huh?”

“You guys caught up before today, right?”

Eddie’s eyes went wide. “Why would you—what are you talking about?”

He lifted a single judgemental brow. “We’re not past playing dumb—? Alright.” He cut himself off with a sigh. Dryly, he said, “Feel free to explain away how he knew you’d been married when he got here after you told me that. And how he knows you’re not supposed to mix your meds with alcohol. And why he didn’t jump all over you the second he saw you, seriously that was so _weird—”_

“Okay, god,” Eddie cut him off, riled at how obvious they’d been. “We were trying to be subtle.”

“Did Richie get the memo? He’s still looking at you all…”

His stupid fucking breath caught. He cleared his throat. “All what?”

Stan’s forehead creased, almost apologetic. “The same way he’s always looked at you.”

 _“How?_ What do you mean always—”

“It’s not like I noticed when we were kids, but you guys were always…” Stan trailed off, and Eddie bit down the urge to pull the rest of his words from his mouth like a magician with a colourful scarf. Stan gestured meaninglessly, not bothering to finish his thought. Instead he came up with a new one. “But you’re looking back now. Like you’re waiting for an answer.”

Eddie shook his head. Richie was the one waiting for an answer—one that Eddie had already given, he just didn’t like. 

“Did everybody—did they all notice?” Eddie asked, worried that their friends saw exactly what Richie wanted to keep private.

“Patty did. But she wasn’t distracted by getting hit with a childhood’s worth of repressed trauma in one night.” He shrugged. “So I think the others missed it.”

He nodded, but the relief wasn’t overwhelming. 

“I didn’t mean to pry,” Stan offered. “I’m sure you didn’t tell us for a good reason; I was just trying to tell you that it doesn’t really go away, not all of it.”

Eddie nodded, knee bouncing. “This whole time I’ve felt this weird connection to him, way too comfortable with him from the start.” 

“How long?”

“A few months. We met in a bar.”

And the whole time since then, Eddie hasn’t had anybody to talk to about it. But now he does. 

“Shit.” Eddie turned to face him. “Stan, can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve had sex with Richie fucking Tozier!” Eddie bounced to his feet, running his hands through his hair. “I—he’s the only man I’ve ever been with, and it’s _Richie_.”

“Ah,” he said lightly. “Okay, I wasn’t sure if you’d actually, uh—”

“What?” He scoffed. “You think we’d have kept it a secret if we’d just been hanging out?”

Eddie winced at his own phrasing.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “You guys had this weird tension—”

“He asked me to move in with him,” Eddie explained abruptly. 

“Oh. So it’s—serious?”

“No.” Another hysterical burst of laughter came out of Eddie, followed by clipped words as he paced the carpet. “No, it shouldn’t be. I didn’t mean for it to be. It’s not _supposed_ to be—and moving across the country is not practical! So I told him no. And that’s when Mike called. So that’s where we were, a tipping point in a relationship we’re not in, and now it’s _this.”_

He stopped pacing, throwing his hands up and then letting them flop against his thighs.

“This impossible outcome,” Eddie said. “That the guy I’ve been hooking up with for five months is—is—is—”

“Is Richie,” Stan filled in, with all the meaning and gravitas Eddie was reaching for.

“Yeah,” he sighed, finally running out of steam. 

He nodded, taking it in. “Honestly, that all makes perfect sense to me. You two have always been a disaster waiting to happen—”

“We’re not a disaster,” he argued, when what he actually meant was ‘do you really think we’d be a disaster?’

“Sorry, no,” Stan dismissed, picking up what Eddie had left unsaid. Eddie had missed Stan’s bullshit radar so much. “I just meant you’re both fucking ridiculous.”

And Eddie couldn’t argue with that.

“Why isn’t it practical?” Stan asked. “To move in with him?”

“Because I barely even… know him,” Eddie said weakly.

His brows hiked up his forehead sceptically. 

“Shut up!” Eddie said like an accusation. “How long were you and Patty together before you moved in?”

“We met October freshman year. Got an apartment together the following summer.”

Which didn’t support Eddie’s argument at all.

“I just knew,” Stan finished simply. “You think you don’t know?”

Then other times, Eddie hated Stan’s bullshit meter.

Luckily, at that moment Patty came into the room. Her entrance brought the sounds of a commotion through the open door.

“Eddie!” It was Richie’s voice.

Patty looked down the hall, then back at Eddie in her room with Stan. With exaggerated facial expressions, she mouthed, _“Are you hiding?”_

Eddie shook his head.

She called over her shoulder as she entered the room, “He’s in here, Trashmouth.”

“Oh!” came his muffled reply, before Richie threw himself into the room. 

Patty was chuckling, and Eddie was smiling distractedly until he took in the sight of Richie hanging off the door frame. His eyes were watery, hair plastered to his temples with sweat, face a barely held-together mask of emotion.

Eddie’s stomach dropped. “What happened?”

“Huh?”

“Was it here, do we need to get the others—”

“What, no I—” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’ve just been drinking.”

“More?” Eddie asked incredulously.

“Can I just—” Richie held out a hand, as if the end of that sentence was meant to be ‘have you?’

As if Eddie would turn him down.

Eddie nodded, saying his goodbye to Stan and Patty. “Thanks for uh—thanks, Stan. Get some rest.”

“You too.” Stan nodded at Richie. “Both of you.”

Richie saluted him loosely. 

He squeezed Eddie’s fingers when he reached him, their clasped hands hidden between their bodies as Richie brought him to his room.

Richie had some cliché love ballad playing through his wireless speaker, looking alien among decor that hadn’t been updated since the 70s. His suitcase contents were scattered across the floor, haphazardly packed as always. One of these days, Eddie was going to have to teach him how to fold clothes properly.

“Christ, Rich, we’ve been here five minutes. And this carpet hasn’t seen a vacuum in a decade—”

In some strange twist of fate, Richie swore and apologized, and actually started flinging his crumpled clothes back into his suitcase.

“What are you doing?” Eddie said, dumbfounded.

Richie blinked up at him with bloodshot eyes. Weakly, he replied, “It’s a mess in here.”

“Since when do you give a shit? Are you _okay?”_

Richie straightened, taking a shuddering breath, gaze wild and scared, like a drunken rabbit staring down a fox’s maw.

Eddie held out his hand, and Richie took it for the offer it was. He ducked into Eddie’s chest, arms tucked tight against his back, and face buried in Eddie’s shoulder. He reeked of alcohol and stale sweat.

“I’m sorry.” Richie’s stubble scraped Eddie’s neck as he dug in deeper, as close as he could get. Fervently he whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Hey, shh,” Eddie hushed, one hand cupping the back of his damp neck and the other slipping up his shirt to rest between his shoulder blades. “Richie.”

Nothing else passed his throat, because it was clogged from memories that the embrace brought forward—clinging to a scrawny boy’s back in the sewers after pushing a demon clown down a well. Giving an awkward one-armed hug with a cast before leaving his friends—not because he wanted to, but because his mother’s voice was calling him home. Rows of increasingly frantic hugs the week before Eddie’s mom took him from Derry. And finally the same low, crushing hug from a still-scrawny almost-man—seventeen year old Richie, right before Eddie cramming into a car packed full of moving boxes. Their cheeks had brushed when Richie pulled back, eyes bright with tears but a stubborn grin on his face as he said, “I’ll miss you the most, Spaghetti.”

Now Eddie pulled back, and their cheeks brushed the same way. And he gave into the desire he’d been nowhere close to understanding back then.

He kissed him. Richie sighed through his nose, trembling hands cupping Eddie’s face with an undeserved kind of gratefulness.

Was that why he’d gotten drunk? Had he expected Eddie to shrug him off, to deny him?

Eddie licked into his mouth past the sour taste of alcohol, feeling Richie’s jaw shift under his palm. Eddie couldn’t say any of the things Richie wanted him to say, could barely even think them, but the feelings tumbled through him all the same.

And in that moment nothing scared him more than Richie Tozier’s vulnerability. That he was a person just like anybody else—not an invincible, rowdy teenager made to get knocked down and jump back up again, and not an untouchable B-list celebrity who made a living off of dick jokes. Just a middle-aged man tied to Eddie in inextricable ways, warm and soft and open to every emotion that coursed through him. 

Eddie guided them backward until Richie’s knees met the bed, and then Eddie pushed him onto it. Their kiss broke for less than a second before Eddie crawled on top of him and picked it back up.

Richie groaned, and his big hands landed on Eddie’s ass, making him feel—secure. Safe. Which was entirely groundless, but Richie fondling his ass reassured him a lot more than Richie clutching at his shirt like he was begging him not to go. 

When they parted, it was only to regain their breath. 

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” fell from Richie's lips like a prayer.

“It’s okay, everything’s okay,” Eddie assured him. He brushed his hair off his forehead, pressing a kiss to his temple and holding it there. “It’s alright, Richie, shh.”

Eddie considered going all the way with this; covering Richie’s mouth with his to keep his words unsaid, distracting him from everything else by fucking him until he was tired enough to pass out. Just to soothe him, to keep Richie from spilling all the feelings that Eddie could taste on his tongue. 

But that wouldn’t work. Eddie himself could barely refrain from saying something stupid _now._ Sex would only loosen the both of them up.

He held himself still on top of Richie, weighing his dwindling options as they laid together, quiet just for now.

“Hey,” Richie said with a soft wonder. “Your mom’s dead. That’s amazing.”

Eddie’s huff of laughter tousled Richie’s hair, the fine strands tickling Eddie’s nose. 

“I can show you where she’s buried,” he offered, relieved that this was the topic they landed on. “And you can piss on her grave like you always wanted.”

He shifted to lay more _next_ to Richie than on top of him, but his leg was still hiked across his hip, keeping them grounded with constant contact.

“Your parents are good, right?” Eddie asked. “They’re proud of you?”

Richie gave Eddie’s knee a squeeze. “Yeah. They are.”

Eddie tucked his smile against Richie’s chest. His parents spent so much time at work, but after that summer, Richie didn’t like being alone in his house. Eddie would lie to his mom and say he was going to Ben’s—the only loser she didn’t distrust enough to ask a hundred follow up questions about—and hang out at Richie’s after school until his parents got home at seven, sometimes even eight. They’d always invite Eddie to stay for the takeout they’d brought for dinner.

After Eddie moved away, he’d try to call Richie around the same time, worried about him being alone. Until he stopped worrying about Richie altogether, because he forgot he existed.

Before Eddie could dwell on that too much, Richie reached over to his phone to crank the volume on his speaker, and the lyrics swelled, _“Every now and then I fall apart. And I need you now tonight. And I need you more than ever.”_

“Have you listened to _any_ new song released after 1989?” Eddie asked, ignoring the achingly pointed lyrics.

“Yeah, but being around you always made me think of this shit.” Richie returned his arm to Eddie, draping it across his back to hold him close. “Makes sense now."

Eddie tried to steer the conversation back somewhere less heavy. “Why do I feel like you’ve called this song Total Eclipse of the Fart?” 

“Because I definitely did,” he assured him with a smile. “Hey, do you remember junior prom?”

He cast his mind back to the high school dance in question. Richie dressed in robin’s egg blue, ruffles down the front of his shirt, slicked back hair because he’d wrangled up a date for once. 

“You took… some girl.” Her name wasn’t important enough to return to him, it seemed. He was pretty sure he hadn’t liked her. The only reason Eddie went to the dance at all was because one of the losers had begged him.

“I thought she’d agreed to go with me as a prank, so I made you come in case she ditched me,” Richie said. “But she didn’t, and I danced with her during this song. I was watching you drink punch against the wall and wishing she’d stood me up so I could be teasing you about your formal shorts instead.”

“You remember what I was wearing?” Eddie asked incredulously, as if his own first thought from that night hadn’t been what Richie looked like. 

Richie snorted. “Dude, duh. I had the biggest, gayest crush on you. I dreamt about those shorts for weeks.”

“What?” In high school? Richie liked him in high school? “But you were—” 

He stopped, because Richie hadn’t been straight back then, had he? That’s not how it worked. Richie had liked him. Way back then. And never told him about it. Had, maybe, probably, never told anybody about it.

“So fucking repressed,” Richie finished for him. 

“But you knew? That you were gay?”

He trailed a finger along the apple of his cheek, smiling faintly. “Mm hm.”

“And then you forgot,” Eddie murmured.

He ducked his head. “I think I was looking forward to forgetting that part. When you—when you stopped calling just like the others, I knew it would happen to me, too.”

Eddie’s breath left him. “I—oh fuck. I kept telling you they all just got busy—”

“And Mike said it wasn’t natural,” Richie said. “How quick they dropped off the map.”

They were the last three left in Derry. Mike and Richie were worried something _happened_ when you stayed away too long. Eddie was sure, but never said, that their friends had just abandoned this town in the rearview where it belonged. 

Richie continued, face drawn, “After graduation, I hated leaving Mike, but—I had to. I couldn’t stick around in this—fucking town full of ghosts.”

Knowing Eddie had forgotten him, too. His heart dropped.

“Fuck, Richie, I’m sorry—”

“What?” He looked at him. “No, baby, no.” He kissed him; tenderly soaking up the guilt amassed in Eddie over three seconds. “I missed you, Eddie, you know? I couldn’t remember you but I missed you—” 

Eddie nodded, spreading his hand over his chest. “I do, I know.” 

“So we found each other.”

He squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of emotion rushing him. Stan was right; Eddie recognized something in Richie from the first night they met. He couldn’t stop thinking or he’d forget him, like a shark needs to move or it’ll stop breathing. But it had been so easy to keep Richie in his thoughts; he fit right into the empty space in Eddie’s heart he’d left when they were young. 

Richie nudged him onto his back and weaved his fingers through Eddie’s hair, tilting his head back so he could nose along his jawline to reach his ear. “Let me suck you off, Eds.”

Eddie’s stomach jolted like he’d been shocked with a cattle prod. 

The urge to give Richie what he wanted—what they both wanted—nearly drowned him; the desire to lay back, let Richie sink between his knees and offer up the comfort of his mouth—to stop thinking and melt into Richie.

But he _was_ thinking. And if he’d remembered Richie at the bar, he’d never have slept with him. Their friendship felt sacred, holy in ways totally separate from what the citizens of Derry prayed to. 

He’d never have risked that.

But he had. They both had, and everything was on the line now, and Eddie didn’t trust either of them not to say something they couldn’t take back while wrapped up in each other.

Oblivious to Eddie’s inner turmoil, Richie kissed down his neck. Because when had Eddie ever turned him down?

“Rich,” Eddie said softly. “I’m exhausted.”

His warm lips, soft and wet, dropped to his collarbone. “You don’t have to do anything, baby. Just lemme take care of you.”

And want pulsed through Eddie like a heartbeat.

Because he always wanted Richie. Always, always, always. And Richie wanted him.

Fuck, didn’t they deserve this? After years of denial and shaking knees, fear and sweaty palms. Weren’t they allowed to find comfort in each other? 

It might—Eddie swallowed hard around the thought. It might be the last chance they got.

Richie lifted his head, but Eddie couldn’t meet his eye.

“Spaghetti?”

Eddie groaned. “Don’t fucking call me that when you’re about to go down on me.”

Then Eddie fit their mouths back together. Richie kissed him slow and deep, all-encompassing, and Eddie gave himself over to the moment. Not twenty seven years ago, not tomorrow. Right now. He owed Richie that.

Eddie dragged Richie’s shirt up his broad, solid back, getting it up and off of him. It was followed shortly by the rest of their clothes, and Richie crawled back on top of him. All at once Eddie’s breath left him, at having a sweaty, naked Richie Tozier kissing him like it was the end of the world.

Richie trailed down his torso, dropping kisses and beard burn until he reached Eddie’s cock, hard and ready just for him.

Like so many times before, Richie passed off his glasses to Eddie.

And then he watched, enraptured, as Richie’s swollen lips met his cock. Eddie had never been undone quite so quickly by the wet hot heat of his mouth, his tongue lapping at the underside of his shaft, his big hands gripping his thighs. He felt exposed, taken apart by Richie in the most adoring way.

Eddie dug his nails into his shoulder blade to counteract the softness welling in his chest. 

Richie took him deep and swallowed. Eddie gasped, eyes fluttering shut.

“Richie,” he groaned, and it came straight from his chest. His bottom lip hurt from how hard he was biting it, but he needed to hold in every thought racing through his head. 

Richie slipped off, and Eddie assumed he was just catching his breath, but then Richie let out a choked little noise.

Eddie looked down to find Richie frantically wiping at his cheeks.

“Hey—” Eddie reached out, but Richie shook his head.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m fine. It’s uh—the song—”

As usual, Eddie had been doing his best to tune out Richie’s music choices while they had sex. It took him a second to realize it was ‘How Will I Know’ by Whitney Houston belting through the room.

_“Richie.”_

Richie stretched across the mattress for his phone to change the song. 

Eddie lifted a finger. “If I hear Duran Duran, I swear to god—”

Richie’s chest shook with laughter until he had to bite back another sob. He smiled down at him, gaze watery. “Shit, how did I get through life without you in it?”

Eddie couldn’t respond. Eddie, for one, had been limping through life without Richie in it. Without all the losers, and the memories that made him who he was. He refused to lose all that again.

“Come here,” Eddie whispered, and Richie collapsed on top of him.

Eddie licked his palm and snuck it between them. There had to be lube somewhere in the room, but like fuck were they parting long enough to find it. He wrapped his hand around both of them the best he could, using their salivas to ease the slide. Richie slumped, boneless and moaning against his chest as Eddie worked them over. 

“Feels so fucking good, Eddie,” Richie whined into his ear. 

He’d stopped crying, but now Eddie was fighting a lump forming in his own throat. This would have to be quick, but Eddie was barely touching his own dick, and he didn’t want his own hand anyway.

“Richie,” Eddie said plaintively.

Richie nodded against his neck, jerking into the curl of his palm. “Uh huh, yeah, fuck—”

“Your hands are bigger.”

“Huh?”

He squeezed his dick. “Help me.”

With no further prompting, Richie shifted his weight to one elbow and stuck his hand between them. He skated his wide palm down Eddie’s forearm to cover his hand that was already wrapped around their cocks. Then he laced his fingers through Eddie’s, so Eddie could feel the warmer, rougher drag of his skin as they jerked each other off in tandem.

“Like that?” Richie panted. “That good, baby? You like that?”

“Oh, oh fuck, Richie,” Eddie breathed, bucking up into him. “Yes, yes, shit—”

He dug his teeth into his shoulder, sucking at the salty skin there.

Richie’s panting grew heavier as they created a desperate friction together. He wasn’t talking as much as normal, thank god, thank fuck.

When he came wetly between their chests, it was with a drawn-out moan of Eddie’s name. Tears leaked onto Eddie’s neck, but that didn’t stop him from releasing his own dick to focus on Eddie’s, using his cum to jerk him off faster.

Eddie dropped his head back, mouth falling open as soon as he unclamped his jaw from around Richie’s shoulder. “Oh Richie, oh please.”

“Yeah.” A sweet promise in a wrecked voice, “I got you, Eddie.” 

“Richie— _oh,”_ he gasped as Richie flicked his wrist just how he liked it. He burst across Richie’s hand with, “Fuck, I’m never letting you go.”

He hummed in response, a relieved, contented kind of sound, and kissed his neck.

By Eddie’s estimate, it took Richie ten seconds to start snoring after that.

He stared up at a water stain on the ceiling, trying not to think too heavily about the sweaty, hairy deadweight on top of him. Because he didn’t mind it, not at all, Richie crushing him into the mattress. It wasn’t much different from the heavy feeling that burned through his chest after every other time they fucked. 

He realized then that the feeling was _home._ Richie was home to him. 

Shit.

Eddie sighed and gently rolled Richie off him. He went to the bathroom to wipe himself off, found a second washcloth and cleaned Richie off, too.

He awoke long enough to mumble at Eddie, “Mm, you take care of me.”

Eddie swallowed thickly. “Ibuprofen?” 

“Suitcase.”

Eddie found the bottle, pushing aside condoms and lube to get to it, and then filled a plastic cup from the bathroom with water and got Richie to take a pill. 

“Can’t fight a clown with a hangover, huh?” Richie muttered as he tugged on Eddie’s hand. 

Eddie didn’t bother rounding the bed, just crawled over Richie and laid back down next to him.

Richie curled up at his side and immediately fell unconscious again. Mouth hanging open, a little snore whistling through his nose. He looked so soft, peaceful.

Eddie had never yearned quite like this. Wanting so acutely for something he already had, but filled with certain dread he’d lose. Because Richie would ask again, eventually, because he didn’t get what being with Eddie would mean. So Eddie couldn’t give him a different answer. 

Richie tossed an arm over Eddie’s hip, like even in sleep he could sense him worrying and wanted him to quit it.

He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and slipping his fingers gently through Richie’s curls at the back of his head.

It was everything he’d ached for as a kid. The reminder stung.

Eddie gave in, shuffling down so he could curl into the shelter of Richie’s chest. Knowing it might be the last time, Eddie let the sound of Richie’s heartbeat lull him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, nobody's dying. But Eddie doesn't know that.  
> As always, please let me know how you liked this chapter!!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Bit of a shorter chapter today to give me time to work on later chapters, and also my sugar baby au. New chapter of that one should be up sometime this week!  
> Please enjoy!

Eddie awoke sluggishly from a dream that had him on edge before he even opened his eyes. He flipped onto his side, and his hand landed on Richie’s soft belly, so he pet through the thick hair there, letting his proximity calm him. In hopes of drifting back to sleep, Eddie scooted in closer.

It was the scratchy budget bedsheets, of all things, to force him into reality and bring the day before rushing back to him.

He sat up with a start, taking in his surroundings to convince himself of where he was; the faded wallpaper, the dusty light fixtures, both of their clothes littered across the carpet.

A cold sweat popped across his back. Not a dream, just a nightmare he couldn’t escape from.

His phone buzzed loudly on the nightstand, and the disruption of the silence made Eddie flinch hard enough to fuck up the crick in his neck even worse. He massaged the back of his neck as he grabbed his phone.

Ben: _Hey, are you not in your room? I tried knocking. We’re all gonna get breakfast downstairs soon!_

_Stan said Richie looked bad last night, I dunno if we should let him sleep it off?_

Eddie tossed a look at Richie, snoring away, before replying, _Sorry, just woke up. Gotta shower first. I’ll try Richie after_

Ben: _okey :)_

He slapped his palm over his mouth to hide a choked gasp. Why did a smiley from Ben make him want to cry? (Because this shouldn’t be the first time he was seeing it from him, they should’ve kept in touch, they should’ve grown up together, the clown should be fucking _dead)._

He shook Richie’s shoulder. “Richie, wake up, please.”

He groaned, eyes closed, and tugged the comforter off his lap to show off his morning wood plumping up against his thigh. “Play by the rules, baby. Give me a good reason to wake up this early—”

 _“Rich,”_ Eddie said through gritted teeth.

Richie frowned, forcing his eyes open in a clearly monumental effort. It took him about half a second to go from groggily horny to startled awake.

“Oh.”

Guilt pulled at Eddie for waking him up, even though it wasn’t him who’d done this to Richie.

He blinked up at Eddie, eyes wide and bloodshot, before he shoved his glasses on and sat up.

“We’re still here,” Richie observed.

“Yeah,” Eddie sighed. With nothing more comforting to offer, he said, “The others are having breakfast—”

“Breakfast?” he repeated incredulously. “At a time like this?”

“It’s morning, Richie. You want us to fight an evil clown on an empty stomach?”

“Empty heads, more like,” he muttered. He swung his feet to the floor, but propped his elbows on his knees and ran a tired hand over his face rather than stand.

Eddie swallowed the urge to sidle up next to him and rub his back, and instead grabbed them both some water and painkillers.

When they were done, Eddie stood in front of Richie and brushed his hair off his forehead. “I’m gonna get ready in my room.”

Richie whined, slipping his arms around his waist and resting his face against Eddie’s bare stomach. Eddie was grateful Richie couldn’t see him, because the gesture made Eddie blink back tears again. 

“We can share the shower,” Richie mumbled.

“Richie, you made me drink a lot of alcohol last night.”

“I didn’t _make_ you—”

“So now my bowels are very eager to expel all those toxins.”

Richie looked up at him. “You gotta shit?” He pouted in response to Eddie’s nod. “You can do that here.”

“I’m not going to, though,” he said gently. “Be ready in twenty minutes, we can go down together.”

Richie almost certainly used that time to do nothing more than wallow in bed a little longer, because when Eddie came back, Richie was tugging on a wrinkled T-shirt and sweatpants that Eddie could see the outline of his dick through. 

Somehow they made it to breakfast.

They grabbed stale muffins and weak coffees, and joined the other losers at the two tables they’d pushed together to accommodate them all.

Conversation was kept light, even though they seemed to be the only guests in the whole motel. Mike suggested they find the old clubhouse first, which Eddie doubted would still be standing, but Mike kept talking about how they needed memories and, admittedly, the clubhouse had to be the best place to stir some up for everybody. 

Eddie took his coffee black, but Richie slowly added two sugars and a milk, which Eddie didn’t realize until his coffee had changed colour and started tasting good. Richie just winked in response to Eddie’s glare, and Stan raised his brows at them across the table. Richie didn’t notice.

It occurred to Eddie that he maybe should’ve told Richie that Stan and Patty knew about them, but wasn’t sure what that would accomplish besides either freaking him out more, or sparking another conversation about their relationship. Neither of which he wanted. Eddie would fill him in later, _all_ the way later, when they talked about everything else.

Mike was eager to get to the clubhouse so he could fill them in on all the details, so they’d head out as soon as everyone had finished getting ready.

“Go take a shower,” Eddie said to Richie when he appeared to be settling in to wait with Eddie, who was already showered and dressed.

“I did.”

Eddie leaned over and took a whiff of his hair. “You smell like a bottle of whiskey, so I certainly hope that’s from last night and you didn’t chug another one this morning.”

He also smelled of stale sweat and sex, but Eddie didn’t find that pertinent to share with the group.

The others laughed, and Richie pulled a face. “You really gotta embarrass me like that in front of all our friends?”

“Don’t lie to me and I won’t have to.” He waved him away. “Now fuck off.”

Bev squeezed their shoulders as she walked past them. “Ugh, I missed you two.”

Eddie didn’t know how to respond to that.

Richie chased after her arms outstretched, making kissy noises nearly overshadowed by her laughter at his antics.

The rest of them cleared out to their rooms, and Eddie was left alone in the sudden, disconcerting silence in a strange motel.

So he checked his emails. The three most pressing were from Harriet, the first of which included the line ‘Not to interrupt your last-minute vacation, but if I could please get your input on this at your earliest convenience.’ which translated to ‘Hey shitstick, since you left me in the lurch with no warning, the least you can do is respond to me as quick as your little fingers can type.’

Eddie sighed and got to work. Focusing on the same old shit he’d dealt with for years instead of relationship problems and monster-induced amnesia was weirdly calming. 

He was finishing up the last email when Ben came back. He’d changed into a cozy-looking knit sweater that he filled out nicely. “Oh hey, I was gonna wait in the lobby, if you wanna come? It’s got comfier chairs.”

Eddie agreed, and they found some plush chaises in front of a picture window. Other than the thick layer of dust covering every surface, it was a welcoming entryway.

Ben’s eyes trailed along the ceiling. “You can tell by the crown-moulding that this room was part of the original building. The rest got added on in the 80s, I think. It doesn’t have the same character.”

Eddie nodded. “See, I knew I was disappointed in my room for a reason. It’s shit compared to where we checked in, isn’t it?”

A blush lit Ben’s round cheeks for some reason. “Sorry, you don’t have to pretend to care about the architecture. Thinking about how stuff was built just calms me down.”

“No, it’s cool,” Eddie assured him. “I was just getting some work done, too, to distract myself.”

“You like what you do?” Ben asked, in a way that both expressed his desire to hear that Eddie was doing great, but also asked for Eddie’s honest opinion about his life, no matter what it was.

It threw him off that anyone other than Richie expected an honest answer from him. His boss, Harriet, his mom, Myra—they expected him to say what they wanted to hear. It was the path of least resistance—if he ever went off script and expressed his true feelings, said what he really wanted, the whole interaction would run off the rails. It’s why the divorce was such a shit show. Of course Myra had known the whole time he wasn’t happy, but unhappy and well-cared for was better than stranded alone in the world, wasn’t it? That was the lie their marriage had been based on.

In that moment Eddie knew, with absolute clarity, that if he’d remembered any of his friends who cared about his honesty—and had many times demanded it when he’d tried to cover himself up with lies—he never would’ve tied himself to Myra.

His hatred of the clown ratcheted up another notch.

“I’ve been liking my job less the longer I do it,” Eddie said to Ben. “But I don’t know what else I’d do.”

Ben’s lips twitched. “I feel the same way about some things.”

He couldn’t be too surprised. Eddie was sure there was some correlation between the bashful shake of his head last night when Richie asked if Ben was seeing anybody (“Is this hot hunk of a manmeat taken?”) and the way he mooned over Beverly.

“Could you remember anything?” Eddie asked.

“No…” Ben trailed off. He pulled his wallet out of his jacket and plucked a folded piece of paper from it. “I had this, though.”

The creases were well-worn, and the edges curled. It was empty except for one corner with a brief message in loopy handwriting.

“What is it?”

“A yearbook page from the—the year we met.”

“We didn’t all sign it?” Eddie asked, annoyed at himself. “Give it here, I’ll sign it now.”

Ben laughed, leaning away from Eddie’s outstretched hand. “I appreciate the sentiment, but you don’t need to. This was enough… I didn’t remember who’d signed it, or why I kept it, but I—I knew something was missing.”

Eddie had felt it too but, “I just thought everybody was supposed to feel as empty as I did.”

Ben looked at him like he really saw him, and Eddie wanted to stuff the too-honest words right back into his mouth. 

Ben just squeezed his knee comfortingly. “I know what you mean.”

Eddie looked at the well-loved paper Ben had carried with him for nearly thirty years; a promise that he was owed more than the life he was living. Eddie’s mom hadn’t let him pack anything but his clothes and medications when they moved away. Maybe she knew that reminders would only give him a reason to fight her. He was so glad she was dead.

“There you fuckers are.” Richie smacked the doorway. “C’mon, let’s go wading through our adolescent trauma!”

The clubhouse was, as expected, even more of a building code violation than when they were children, but it did what Mike wanted. Every inhale of familiar dampness and old toy Eddie looked at made another memory come tumbling back to him.

Mike was explaining something, and it was definitely important, about the origin of the clown, and tokens, and whatever other magic shit he’d spent all his time becoming an expert on. 

But Eddie was paying more attention to the rest of the losers picking through their old stuff. Wondering if the same memories were popping up for all of them, or if Eddie was more likely to remember his arguments with Richie over the hammock than, say, Bill was. Or did anyone other than Stan recall the time he and Mike found a baby bird outside and nursed it back to health down here? And at first Eddie had told them to get it out, it was riddled with disease, but had still brought them an eyedropper to feed it with, and eventually cried a little when they released it back into the world. 

Were these the kind of memories meant to help them kill a clown?

Richie poked at the hammock with a considering look on his face, but a second before Eddie could snap at him not to dare lie down in it, the fabric snapped and crumpled to the floor. 

Richie’s shoulders fell. “Aw.”

“Idiot,” Eddie said. Richie winked back.

Mike, ignoring their riveting dialogue, pulled a thermos out of his bag. “Alright, I’ve microdosed my water here with some all-natural, mind-opening roots and herbs. This will let you see what I’ve seen—“

Patty balked with laughter. “You trying to make this a party, Mike?”

“It’s crucial you all understand what we’re up against.”

After a second’s thought, she shrugged. “Fuck it, I’ll have some drug tea.”

“Don’t drink that!” Eddie said incredulously, as Richie and Bill both reached to accept a cup as well. Bill tilted his head, like he couldn’t fathom why this might be a bad idea. “Mike, with all due respect, we can’t get high right now.”

“Implying we can later?” Richie quipped.

Eddie flipped him off.

“You told us what you saw,” Bev assured Mike. “We believe you. _Without_ the drug tea.”

Ben nodded. “Alien clown, eater of worlds, we gotta burn some memories to kill it. I’m sold.”

“Oh?” Mike’s brows rose, and he looked at each of them in turn, all agreeing and accepting the buckwild shit he’d said. Because they’d faced weirder, together. And they had no reason to doubt him. 

(Patty, on the other hand, must’ve had complete and utter trust in her husband who had, presumably, vouched for all of them. Which was also sweet.)

Mike’s face softened with something like wonder. “Okay. Alright, great. I just—I thought you’d need more convincing. Nobody around here really… wants to listen to me about this stuff.”

Bill stretched an arm around Mike's wide shoulders and gave him a little shake, tugging him closer to his side. “We know better, Mikey. We’re in this with you.”

“Thank you, thanks I—” Mike took a steadying breath, blinking back tears. “Look, I can’t promise this will work, but we have to try. And we have to believe. You believe me?”

“Dude, duh,” Richie said, softer than his words would suggest. “You know more about this shit than any of us.”

Unexpected relief eased the tension holding Mike’s shoulders tight. “Right, yeah. Sorry, it’s just uh—”

“It’s been a while, right?” Ben said. “Being alone?"

Mike nodded again, smiling big, like Eddie remembered from when he was a kid. It broke Eddie’s heart a little to picture Mike’s life while they’d been gone; long nights cooped up in the library pouring over old books and research that no one in this town understood or cared about, but was so hugely important.

“You’re not alone anymore,” Eddie promised. “And you won’t be.”

Eddie ducked under a sunken beam crossing the cramped space, and grabbed Mike, and by extension, Bill, into a hug.

“Oh, this is a much better idea than tea,” Patty said, setting down the Rubik’s cube she’d been playing with, and wrapping her arms around Bill’s back. “Stan—”

He got the message, and the rest followed suit, until Mike was in the middle of a loser group hug, getting caught up on the love and support he’d missed out on for too long.

They crawled back out into the woods once they’d wrung everything they needed from the clubhouse, and had a plan of attack for tracking down their tokens.

Bill was agreeing with Mike, saying they had to split up to find them.

Now, even taking Mike’s wisdom on the matter into account, it was the stupidest thing Eddie had ever heard. When did the clown always find them? When they were alone and vulnerable. And they wanted them to split up to go poking at their core wounds? Yeah right. 

Which was almost verbatim what Eddie spouted when Richie pointed at Stan and Patty—Eddie had cut him off, because he was going to ask why he and Eddie couldn’t stick together like them (the married couple). That would’ve brought a little too much heat, a few too many correlations between the pairs, since Richie didn’t want the losers knowing about them.

Eddie’s rant didn’t invite any of the questions that Richie’s strategy would have, and the outcome was the same. They got to stay together.

“You two gonna be alright?” Bill asked after the rest of the losers set out on their own in search of their tokens.

Eddie didn’t understand the question; he and Richie would be together, they’d be safer than anyone except Stan and Patty.

Richie popped his brows. “You wanna come with us, Big Bill? Get the ole threesome back together?”

Eddie rolled his eyes.

Bill let out a little laugh. “No, I gotta—I have to do this by myself.”

Eddie believed that. Bill hadn’t brought his wife along like Stan—not because he was stronger, just different. By the determined set of his jaw, the certainty in his gaze, Eddie could tell that Bill was ready to do this entire thing alone if he had to, just like he'd been ready to walk straight into Neibolt house with no back up the first time around. 

“You don’t have to,” Eddie told him. “But I get it.”

Richie threw his arm around Eddie’s shoulders. “If you’re sure, dude. Just be careful.”

Bill smiled at them. “You too.”

And then Eddie and Richie were off to the arcade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you were wondering, yes, that clubhouse scene was a direct middle finger to Muschietti for what he did to Mike in the movie.  
> Next chapter shit pops off. Thanks for reading, lemme know your thoughts!!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rubs my grubby little hands together* Hi. I love you, but this chapter's gonna hurt. Please enjoy!!
> 
> Warnings: clown bullshit/mild horror elements (nothing violent), homophobia, Sonia's disembodied voice being generally horrible, emetophobia  
> (There's a more detailed description of what may potentially be triggering in the end notes, if that will help. It's not that bad I don't think? (esp w/ how the characters deal w/ it) but we'll play it safe. Any q's, hmu in the comments, [@doeeyeskasprak](https://twitter.com/doeeyeskasprak) on Twitter or [katranga](http://katranga.tumblr.com) on tumblr.)

“A literal token?” Eddie asked as Richie pushed open the broken door to the abandoned arcade. “Seriously?

“Yeah, so? I was here all the time.” 

“Maybe when we were younger, but not by the time we all… left,” Eddie trailed off. 

A shadow passed over Richie’s face. “Yeah.”

“What?”

He checked over his shoulder, leading Eddie past decrepit arcade games in search of the token machine. Dust layered over everything that wasn’t cast in shadow; the floor, the joysticks, the blank, dead screens that they’d spend hours staring at aiming for high scores. 

“That summer, when we all split up,” Richie started, “I was playing Street Fighter with Bowers’ cousin.”

“For what _possible_ reason—”

“Obviously I didn’t know they were related.” He rolled his eyes. “Until he showed up. Then he thought I was… y’know. Hot for his cousin, I guess. So I got all the usual, and everyone heard. Didn’t like coming here after that.”

That sounded familiar; Richie running from bullies, getting kicked and punched and screamed at for everything he was. Stumbling up to Eddie after, smiling through a split lip and broken glasses because Eddie was already reaching into his fanny pack to help fix him up.

But he didn’t remember hearing about trouble like that at the arcade.

“You never told me about that,” Eddie said, almost certain.

He replied with a defeated little laugh. “What was I supposed to say? ‘You know how everybody thinks I’m gay? They think it more now. And I agree,’” he added quietly.

Eddie’s instinct was to assure him that he could’ve come out as kids, but the words got caught in his throat. How would Eddie, living with his mother, terrified of everything, seven layers deep in denial, have reacted if Richie had the courage to be honest back then? He couldn't be sure.

With a heavy, twisting sort of guilt, Eddie began, “I’m sorry—”

Richie grabbed his arm. “Wait, do you hear that?”

Dust settled around their feet as they stilled. They peered into the darkness of the abandoned arcade, and got only silence in return.

Eddie continued at a whisper, “I wish I could’ve—”

 _“Richie,”_ interrupted a scratchy, giggling voice, hidden in the shadows between game machines. _“I know your secret. Your dirty little—"_

“Would you shut up?” Eddie snapped. “We’re having a fucking conversation here.”

Richie stared at him with unfiltered shock.

“What?” Eddie shrugged jerkily. “That clown ruined _my fucking life!”_ He shouted pointedly in the direction of the disembodied voice. “The least it could do is leave us alone. And get some better ammo? It’s 2017, you homophobic piece of—”

“Eddie!” His mother’s scandalized voice cracked through the air. Eddie clutched Richie’s sleeve. “You know better than this! Running around town sullying yourself with the likes of this… deviant.”

Bravado gone. Slipped through his fingers like cooked spaghetti.

Eddie shook Richie’s arm with a franticness that could shake his bones. “Richie, find your fucking token.”

“Right.” His gaze jumped around the room looking for the token machine.

A high-pitched, grating laugh rose up all around them, like it was coming from the speakers that used to play Rush and page employees to clean up puddles of puke. Eddie drew in closer to Richie even as his blood boiled. This thing thought all this was funny, a joke. It was getting off on their fear—

“There.” Richie pointed to the rusted token machine next to the prize counter. 

They ran for it, hand in hand.

“You know he just wants you dirty, filthy,” Sonia’s voice accused. “But you won’t give in, will you, Eddie bear? That’s why you told him no—”

Richie stumbled over a loose tile.

“Shut the fuck up!” Eddie blurted. “Shut up, you stupid piece of shit, you don’t know _anything—”_

“You’re sick, Eddie, so sick. How did you let him do this to you—”

A little hysterical, Richie yelled, “Sorry, Mrs. K!” as he fished in his pocket for a quarter. “I know I led you on, but I’ve been taking good care of Eddie. And he gives it to me better than you ever could—”

A haunting groan echoed from the corner, accompanied by shuffling footsteps. 

Eddie strained to see into the shadows, which only served to startle him worse when a retch sounded from exactly where he was staring

An offensive amount of acrid black bile spewed from the darkness, spilling across the floor in their direction.

Eddie yelped, ducking behind Richie as he popped a quarter in the machine. He tugged on his jacket. “Richie, Richie, Richie—”

“Got it.” Richie held up a triumphant, shining token.

Eddie’s relief was staved by the figure finally shambling into view. 

It was Eddie, if he were a corpse raised from the sewers. Viscous black goo oozed from his mouth, his nostrils, out of his eye sockets onto his ashen cheeks. 

He gurgled to speak, like he was swimming in the black goo bubbling on his tongue. _“We told you not to touch the other boys, Richie.”_

Sonia’s accompanying shriek could’ve shattered glass. “How could you do this to my son?” 

Richie puked.

“Shut _up!”_ Eddie yelled, heart pounding in his ears. 

This horror show was created for both of them, a two for one—and why wouldn’t it be? _Everybody_ _knew_ he and Richie were a package deal! His lungs squeezed for air.

“I told you to stay away, Eddie, why didn’t you listen to me?”

The garbage Eddie slumped to his knees, more black bile fountaining from his gaping mouth onto his shirt.

“Look at him, you ruined him—”

“You eat kids!” Eddie found his shaking voice. He advanced toward the scene with unsteady steps, unsure of his own intentions other than blocking it from Richie’s sight. “You eat kids and hide them in the sewers, you freak of fucking nature! Where the fuck do you get off—”

“Eds—” Richie grabbed his shoulder. “Eds, let’s go.”

“Yeah—” He turned, almost laid his fingers on Richie’s sweaty cheek, to touch the dark hollows under his eyes and ease the hurt radiating from them, but he took his hand instead.

They ran through the arcade back to the entrance, leaving the clown and its horrors to its own devices. They flung the doors open hard enough to send shards of broken glass arcing onto the sidewalk.

And then it was over; they were back in the sunny street on a peaceful day in Maine.

Richie bent over, chest heaving as he leaned on his knees. He still looked visibly sick, and young and old all at once, but not in the way Eddie had been experiencing since they’d returned to Derry. Young like a kid not yet woken from a nightmare, and old like he’d gained an undeserved weight on his shoulders.

“Fuck that clown,” Eddie said lowly. Richie nodded, eyes closed. “Richie, I mean it, it can go to hell.”

“Uh huh,” he panted as he straightened, pressing his hands to the small of his back.

Eddie looked back at the arcade. With no regard for his surroundings, he yelled, “Go fuck yourself!”

He waved an encouraging hand at Richie, who lifted a disbelieving brow and tried, “Fuck off?” 

Eddie crossed the distance between them and thumped his chest with the heel of his hand. “From here, Rich. Like when you were telling my mom how good I fuck you. Didn’t that make you feel better?”

Richie’s eyes darkened, the attention strong enough to eat him up. But Eddie never felt drained when Richie looked at him, he felt powerful, like he could give him everything he had and still be whole. The clown couldn’t take that from them, no matter the performances it put on in their honour. 

Richie must’ve got whatever he wanted from drinking Eddie in, because he took a deep breath and pointed at the arcade. He let out a long, taunting, “Fuck youuu!”

Eddie watched him; his brows lifting with emotion, lips pursed obnoxiously, yelling obscenities at childhood bullies from this world and the next. In that moment, not even Richie’s recent bout of vomiting curbed the urge to kiss him.

It was only the attention they’d garnered that actually stopped Eddie.

“What is wrong with you?” gasped a woman with a child on either side of her. “Watch your language!”

“Don’t tell us what to do,” Eddie snapped.

She gave him a disgusted look and yanked her kids across the street. 

Eddie curled his fist in Richie’s jacket and tugged him away from the scene they were making.

The walk to the pharmacy was a subdued, nerve-wracking ordeal, despite Eddie’s best efforts to calm them with the shouting match against the arcade door. They’d started with the arcade because they expected it to be easier; Eddie had more hangups about the pharmacy that the clown could exploit than Richie did about the arcade, right? 

The prospect that they’d been right had his palms sweating with what was to come.

A few doors away from the pharmacy, Richie pulled Eddie to a stop.

“Okay, gimme the prescription?”

Eddie handed him the slip of paper, a little confused.

Richie offered a tight smile. “Great. Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, what?” Eddie, obviously, took after him.

“I’ll be right back.”

“On what planet are you going in there alone?”

Richie stopped again, and put his hands on Eddie’s shoulders. The comforting weight came with a soft, pleading look. “Just wait here, okay? I’ll pop in, grab the inhaler, and we can go back to the inn.”

“What are you _talking_ about?” He shook his head. “What about everything Mike said about remembering—”

“You don’t think you got enough of that out of the arcade?” 

_“You_ sure did,” Eddie said incredulously. “Why would I let you go in there alone? The whole point is that we’re together—”

 _“I’m_ not gonna get retraumatized going into a pharmacy,” Richie cut in. 

He lifted his chin. “I can do this, Richie.”

“Baby, please.” Which already had Eddie’s resolve softening. Richie swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “You were so badass in the arcade, you’ve got nothing to prove. Please just—” He dropped his hands from Eddie’s shoulders to his elbows and squeezed. “Please let me do this for you.”

And just like last night, if Richie asked, then Eddie would give.

“Okay.”

Richie smiled again, blinking away the moisture in his eyes. “Thank you. Thank you, Eddie. I got this.”

“If you’re not out in five minutes, I’m coming in.”

He slapped his arm, heading in. “You got it, Spaghetti.”

Eddie set a phone timer for four minutes and fifty seconds; the ten seconds subtracted from the time it took him to get it started. He leaned against the for-rent storefront next to the pharmacy, a narrow alley separating the buildings.

He kept his phone in his hand, debating whether to follow Richie in anyway. He could handle more of the clown’s buffoonery, but they both knew that. Richie didn’t want Eddie to have to go through that. And, to be fair, Eddie would’ve done the same thing for Richie if he knew what was awaiting them in the arcade.

At the two minute mark, he heard a spooky, _“Eddie…”_ drift through the alley behind him.

“Fuck off,” Eddie tossed out without looking away from his phone timer. 

Banging sounded from behind the door at the end of the alley. His mother’s muffled voice shouted, “Eddie, help me! It’s gonna kill me!”

“Good!” he called over his shoulder. “Have fun circle-jerking yourself into a terror-filled orgasm, you uninspired piece of shit.”

A man grimaced walking past him, and Eddie shrugged, unbothered, back at him.

Silence responded from behind Eddie. He watched the seconds tick by intently. Two thirty three, two thirty four, two thirty five—

A loud thump from a big fist. “Baby!” 

Eddie spun on his heel.

“Baby, please!” Richie’s desperate plea taunted him from behind the door. “Eddie, help me, please help me. Don’t let it get me—”

Eddie’s grip tightened on his phone to counteract his suddenly shaking hands. “Don’t you fucking dare—”

“Baby, come on. Don’t you love me? Why won’t you save me?”

Fueled by what could only be pure, indignant rage, Eddie had made it halfway down the alley before he knew what to do with himself.

“You got a lot of nerve, you shitty impersonator _hack—”_

“Eds!”

Richie stood at the mouth of the alley, white prescription bag swinging from his hand. “Dude, what’re you doing? You gonna tear it apart with your bare hands?”

“I—yes?” Eddie tried, before deciding, “Yes. Where the fuck does it get off?”

“C’mon.” Richie jerked his head away from the alley. “Let’s get outta here first.”

They turned off the main drag to walk back to the car, navigating through less-populated residential streets. Quieter surroundings didn’t do much to soothe the jitteriness of Eddie’s insides. The neighbourhood wasn’t Eddie’s old one, or Richie’s, but it might as well have been. Because it was all the same, wasn’t it? Nothing changed in Derry, not even cosmic killer clowns. 

Eddie wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. “Anything happen in there?”

Richie shook his head as he passed Eddie the bag. “Pharmacy guy was delighted to see me. Dick pill sales have gone up ten percent in Derry since my ad campaign dropped, did you know that?”

“Dumb,” was all Eddie could think to say. He ripped into the pharmacy bag.

The inhaler was a familiar shape molded into his palm. Not comforting, and yet he couldn’t deny how desperately he wanted a puff to quell the fear filtering through his lungs like air.

Richie asked, “What about you?”

Eddie shook his head jerkily. “It was you calling for help—same shit it pulled in Neibolt. Wish it would get some new tricks—”

“I don’t,” Richie half-laughed despite himself. 

He stuck the inhaler in his pocket and shoved his trembling hands under his armpits. 

“Don’t you hate this?” Eddie asked. “Like, what gives that clown the fucking right to—to do this to us? Again? The absolute nerve, the unmitigated gall to pull the same shit _—the exact same shit—_ it did to us when we were twelve?”

Eddie wasn’t expecting a real answer, but when Richie didn’t say anything at all, he glanced over at him. 

Richie’s shoulders were hunched in, hands stuffed in his pockets. He looked exhausted. And sweaty. And small. All observations he’d be delighted to hear, Eddie was sure. But it made him want to wrap him up in the softest blanket he could find and give him a kiss on the forehead, and then plop onto his lap and get the blanket around himself, too.

Richie swept his damp bangs off his forehead. Without meeting his eye, he said, “We know what it’s saying isn’t true, right? About either of us?”

Eddie’s stomach dropped. “Yeah. Yeah, Richie. It’s always been bullshit. What _I_ said was true.” He jerked a thumb back to town. “And _that_ thing has always been wrong. It’s a stupid fucking liar.”

They weren’t filthy, they weren’t dirty, what they got up to wasn’t gross or bad or sinful. Richie certainly hadn’t ruined Eddie by touching him. The clown needed to get with the fucking times.

Richie’s lips twitched. “You’re really ready to bully this thing to death, huh?”

“I’m pissed,” he said. “I keep realizing how much it took from me. Us. What it _keeps_ trying to take from us. I wanna destroy that fucking thing, Rich.”

He glanced up from the rock he was kicking. “I know.”

Eddie’s face stayed set in steady determination, but Richie’s brows softened out of their worried wrinkle until his gaze grew warm. 

“So. Kill the clown,” Richie listed off, aiming for casual. “Get the hell out of dodge, and then the world’s our oyster, right?” He offered a shaky smile. “You thought about New York versus LA at all?”

Richie said it like it was a given, as though cohabitation in one city or another was a foregone agreement they’d made.

Even though Eddie had ended that conversation. Kind of. The last explicit word he’d said about moving, right before Mike called, was a resounding no. 

The last words he’d offered in _general_ regarding being with Richie, last night in bed, were ‘I’m never letting you go’.

Eddie fought to tamp down the panic rising in his chest.

“I’m joking,” Richie said, and for a moment the weight lifted, but then he added, “I know you haven’t had time to crunch the numbers, run the risks, make a spreadsheet—”

“I—why are you asking me this?”

It wasn’t the right thing to say, it wasn’t, it _wasn’t,_ but Eddie didn’t have anything better to offer.

“Huh?”

“I’d—I said no to that, Rich.” Eddie’s voice was barely above a whisper lodged in his throat. He felt a little lightheaded—all the blood rushing to his cheeks, maybe. His face felt very hot.

Obviously right now wasn’t the time for this conversation, but Eddie had to correct him, right? What was the alternative? Keep nodding along until when they were all supposed to leave and then crush him?

Richie stopped. “What?”

Eddie checked the area for dangers, Derry-based or supernatural, just to avoid looking him in the eye. “I told you we shouldn’t move in together. That was my answer.”

“Are you… are you joking?” he asked slowly.

“No.” 

Richie opened his mouth. Shook his head. “Eds, you know, a lot of stuff has happened between then and now. Revelations have occurred, one might say. And you’ve—you’ve _said_ a lot of things. And we—” He waved a hand back to all they’d accomplished that day. “I don’t know how we’re not on the same page here.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie managed past a dry mouth.

“No, don’t—ugh—” He ran a hand over his face. “What—I don’t—” He clasped his hands together in front of him. “Can you help me understand what you’re saying, please?”

“I want to keep doing what we’ve been doing,” he said carefully.

“Living on opposite coasts?”

“Yes.”

“You still don’t want to move any closer to each other?”

“Right.”

 _“Why?”_ Richie asked incredulously

That one was simple. “It’s not practical—” 

“Practical?” It came out as a wheeze. “Eddie, we’re fetching childhood knickknacks for a spell to defeat a killer clown from space. How are you talking to me about _practical—”_

“Because real life comes after this,” Eddie said, like it should be obvious. He hoped it would follow, at least. Prayed to god they survived this town. “We’re gonna get back to normal—”

“I don’t want normal without you.” 

And his wilted voice, the lost puppy dog eyes, the way he hunched even smaller somehow, like Eddie’s words were pecking away at him—it stole the breath from Eddie. 

“Richie, come on,” he begged, trying to reason with him. “You didn’t even wanna tell the losers that we reconnected before all this. How would we—”

He shook his head. “I never said I didn’t want that.”

Eddie looked at him, not understanding. “You didn’t come out to them. I kinda took the hint that you didn’t want them knowing we were together because of that—”

“What would you have had me tell them, Eds?” Richie asked, spreading his hands. “That we’re _hanging out?”_

Eddie dropped his gaze.

Richie was right. He was right, and he had the high ground. Because even if they’d told the losers the truth, it wouldn’t have changed Eddie’s answer. And wouldn’t that have been a kick to the face?

“Why are you—did I do something?” Richie said, at a loss. “Is it about—about what it said, the arcade—?”

“No. No, Richie. I said no before any of this happened.” Eddie gritted his teeth to stall the tears pushing at his eyes. His gaze bounced around nervously, from the cars passing by to the family walking a dog down the block. “Can we not do this here?”

Richie sighed, rubbing at his nose under his glasses. “Fine. Yeah, you know—anything. Anything for you.”

And then he took off in his long-legged stride for his car parked a few houses down.

Eddie stayed on the sidewalk, squeezing the outline of his inhaler through his pocket.

Why was he like this? Why did Richie _like_ him? Unanswerable questions.

Richie pulled up next him and honked the horn. No ‘Eduardo, ándale’. No ‘Get in, Eds’. He didn’t even look at him.

Which Eddie should’ve seen coming. He couldn’t have his cake and eat it too; reject Richie over and over, and expect everything to be okay.

Eddie settled into the passenger seat and Richie hit the gas. 

The action of sitting down to rest would’ve been enough for exhaustion to overwhelm Eddie, if it weren’t for the indelible anxiety gripping his heart. 

A minute of tense silence passed with only some nasally Top 40 petering from the radio to ease it. The song ended and an ad for air hot tubs came on. 

Richie jabbed the button for a different station and ‘Hungry Like the _fucking_ Wolf’ filled the car.

Eddie smacked the radio off, but it was too later.

“I just think it’s funny how—” Richie started. 

“Can we not do this—”

“You said you didn’t want to move in together because we didn’t know each other, right?” Richie pushed them right along. “That was one of your excuses—”

“I gave you reasons, not excuses. Not my fault if you don’t like them,” Eddie corrected. “Sorry if I’m a grown up—”

“Oh, yeah, you’re such a fucking grown up, Eds, buying your own toilet paper and everything—”

“Hey, fuck you!”

Arguing was preferable to crying. Swearing was easier than diving headfirst into their feelings.

“Fuck you,” Richie shot back. “Quit jerking me around, man. You can’t act like I’m the idiot for thinking you want—” He set his jaw, tucking any vulnerability away somewhere Eddie had to squint to see. “If all I ever was to you was a rebound fuck, then say it.”

“What? _No,"_ Eddie said, aghast. "Why would you think that—”

Like he was waiting for the question, he replied, “How can you tell me with a straight face that we don’t know each other?” 

“That wasn’t my only reason—”

“And I’m not out?” Richie challenged, sparing him a glance away from the road. “I’ll tweet that rainbow flag emoji right now—”

“Don’t. Don’t do that for me."

“Maybe I won’t do it for you then. I’ll do it for the fucking clown. It ruined _my_ life, too.” Richie’s knuckles turned white against the steering wheel, eyes glued ahead of them. “He took you from me—took everyone who _knew_ me.” His voice cracked. “You know me, Eds.”

Eddie swallowed past a lump in his throat. “I know. I know, but it’s different. We haven’t lived together. You don’t understand how much of a nightmare it is—”

“I can get my own apartment,” Richie repeated.

Eddie looked out the window. “I don’t want you to do that for me.”

“I want to do things for you, Eddie.” He breathed through his nose. “But I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

Silence fell between them, and it was a relief and a curse all at once. Everything Eddie said made this sticky, ugly swamp of a conversation worse; glomping between guilt and sadness and righteous indignation.

He wanted a do-over, but this was the third try they’d had at this fucking conversation, and he messed it up every time.

“I’m not your ex-wife,” Richie said quietly. 

Eddie’s insides convulsed.

“I’m sure as hell not your mom.” The car jerked to a stop at a stop sign. Richie looked at him. “You think I’d pull the same shit they did?”

 _“No.”_ His voice cracked. “It’s just—everything is a lot, okay? I can’t think about this right now.”

“You didn’t wanna think about it before, either.”

“I _did_ think about it, and I said no,” Eddie said, for the hundredth fucking time. 

“And finding out who we are to each other didn’t change that answer?” Richie pushed. “It doesn’t mean anything to you?”

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut. How would the maelstrom of memories make any of this easier? Remembering that his mom raised him to be weak and cowardly—and he ended up weak and cowardly. And then walked straight from his mom’s arms to a woman who was just like her, because he was convinced he couldn’t survive on his own. 

And then he was alone and miserable before Richie strolled back into his life.

Richie fucking Tozier, his best friend. 

Eddie had spent years lobbing his heart at him, spitting sincerity at him like it was a game, demanding his attention without knowing why he wanted it and now—now that was supposed to make it easier? Everything they’d been through. Knowing he’d go through hell for him, knowing he’d _die_ for him?

It meant _everything._

“How am I supposed to think with all that?” Eddie asked thickly. “Just stop, okay? Seriously, I’m fucking exhausted—”

“Well, we’ll get you a coffee, since we gotta kill this fucking clown—”

Eddie scrambled for the seatbelt and tumbled out of the car, still at the stop sign. Over Richie’s protests, Eddie said, “If you wanna go, then go, Richie! Save yourself, no one will fucking blame you.”

Eddie set off at a brisk pace down the sidewalk.

Richie kept up at a crawl beside him. He rolled the window down. “I’m not going anywhere, where do you think _you’re_ going?”

“The motel. I’ll walk.”

“With a fucking clown on the loose?” He gave his head a hard shake. “I'll stop, just get back in the car."

“I can’t _breathe_ , Richie!” Air scraped Eddie’s lungs going down. He dug into his pocket for his inhaler, hating the instinct to take a puff. He chucked it through the car window. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry. I can’t do this right now.”

They stared at each other for a hard moment.

Then a bell sounded, and Bill waved at them from atop a familiar bicycle. “Guys! I found Silver! You heading back to the hotel?”

Richie’s shoulders deflated like he had the air let out of him.

“It’s a _mo_ tel,” Richie muttered as he popped the trunk for Bill’s bike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arcade scene description: Sonia's disembodied voice implying Richie has dirtied/ruined Eddie. A vision of a sewer-esque Eddie leaking/spewing black goo appears and implies that this happened to him bc Richie touched him (callback to 'don't touch the other boys, Richie'). Richie pukes. --> Eddie tells it to fuck off and supports Richie after. Neither of them believe it. Done after the first paragraph break.
> 
> Would it be weird to ask you to put in the comments what part of this chapter hit you hardest, like, in your heart?? In any case, lemme know what you thought, and thank you so much for reading!!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sooo much for the feedback last chapter!! I'd been sitting on their fight for so long, and I'm really glad it had the impact it did!  
> Warnings: non-specific discussion of child abuse and its lasting effects

After a car ride mercifully filled with Bill’s chatter, Eddie shot out of the car the second Richie pulled into the motel parking lot. 

He disappeared into his room, stuck a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door that had a 50/50 chance of getting ignored, and took a shower to try to regain some semblance of normalcy.

Like he was ever getting normal back. How was he going to walk back into the office, nod at Harriet and tell Joshua to shut the fuck up after defeating a killer clown from space?

_ If _ he defeated it. Big if.

Who would let his work know if he died? Would Richie—

Eddie threw himself onto the bed and buried his face in the pillow he’d brought from home. 

He’d cried in the shower, released the pent-up sobs he’d choked down in the car, so all he was now, was drained. Too wound up to find any peace in his attempted nap, but he was still annoyed when his phone started vibrating barely half an hour later, rousing him to wakefulness.

He sat up, mouth gummy, back aching distantly, and squinted at texts that just kept coming.

Kiki:  _ Hey Eddie, sorry this is probably really inappropriate, but have you heard from Richie? _

_ I’m just worried about him. He took off in the middle of his tour and isn’t answering anybody _

_ I don’t know if he told you…? _

_ About what I talked about with him the other day? _

Eddie groaned. This was real life, just like he’d told Richie. Already rearing its ugly head. How the fuck was Richie’s career supposed to come back from this?

And then his phone started ringing.

“Fucking Christ.” He stared at the ‘incoming call from Kiki Garcia’ with a growing sense of dismay.

He took the call.

“Kiki,” he said wearily.

“Hey, Eddie.” Kiki didn’t pause to breathe after that initial greeting; much less smooth and composed than when they’d been working together. “I’m so sorry, can you tell him I’m sorry? I know he got shit-faced the other night, and then he walked off stage like two lines into his set, and if it’s because of what I said I’m so sorry. I didn’t think he’d take it so hard, which is stupid, because the last time someone said he was gay he wanted to jump out of a fucking helicopter—”

“Who told you that?” Eddie cut in, much more awake than a moment ago. “The reasoning for the helicopter.”

“He did. I don’t think— _ obviously _ he doesn’t remember,” she corrected herself mid-sentence. “I’d just started working with him, and I swore I was gonna quit after a month. But then Steve called me and—well, long story short, I was the one who tucked Richie into bed that night, and he was high off his ass saying his ex was a liar and he didn’t like dick.” She let out a short breath. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have brought it up, I just—I thought if he could come out, even just to us, he’d be happier, you know? And he could write his own stuff. But he just… he ran away.”

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why did you expect him to take it any better this time?”

“Because,” she said. “He’s got you.”

Which was the exact answer he’d been dreading.

“Is he okay?” Kiki asked. “Eddie, you’ve talked to him, right?”

“He’s fine.” Physically. “He didn’t leave because of you. He’s got—personal stuff.”

“Back home,” she finished. “He always said he was from LA…”

Anger hit him in a flash, that she thought she understood Richie when she didn’t know him at all. She ruined this whole thing by sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. 

But it wasn’t her fault. 

And Richie  _ had _ taken it better than last time. Instead of fleeing for the closet, he went running for Eddie’s arms. He asked for them to  _ move in  _ together. And how broken up would Eddie have been with the alternative—if Richie had gotten spooked and ended things instead?

Eddie swallowed.

“I need to go.”

“Yeah,” Kiki said, like she hadn’t expected anything else.

“Oh, and you were right; contacting me like this was horribly inappropriate.”

He finished the call with Kiki and peered out his window overlooking the parking lot. Richie’s bright red rental was gone. Hopefully he was out for a ride with Bill, or Stan, or anybody, really. Eddie wanted to avoid talking to him just yet without feeling guilty.

Bev was loitering in the parking lot smoking, so Eddie went outside to join her.

“Hey.”

“Hey, Eddie.” Bev waved the smoke away from him and crushed the butt under her heel. “You look like shit. I guess you found your token?”

He nodded, skipping the details on who, specifically, picked up his prescription. “You?”

She hummed a nod, tapping another cigarette into her palm absently before noticing what she was doing, and then slipped it back into the carton. “Clown’s a fucking cake face, you ever notice that?”

“A what?”

She laughed sharply, shaking her head. “You wanna get something to eat?”

Eddie wasn’t particularly hungry, certainly not for the cheeseburger Bev ended up ordering for him at a drive thru, but it was her company he was really after, anyway. He was quiet during the drive, and Bev told him about her quest for her token, and the clown’s mystifying decision to paint its face in front of her before she escaped.

“Because it’s a fucking shapeshifter, right?” Bev said as they pulled up to a park. “It doesn’t use makeup, it magically shifts into looking like Bozo the fucking clown. So what was that for?”

They sat on top of a picnic table, feet on the graffitied bench. 

“Do you have a crippling phobia of lead poisoning?” Eddie asked.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Then I’m out of ideas.”

Bev shrugged and passed him a burger and fries from the bag. “How did yours go?”

Eddie hummed indistinctly and started eating. 

“That bad?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Alright.”

Despite Eddie’s lack of hunger, he scarfed down half of it in two bites. He found something satisfying about tearing into a greasy burger melting with cheese. Ketchup smeared across his chin, and he wiped it off on the back of his hand.

Bev passed him a napkin. “No offense, but you faked well-adjusted better as a kid.”

He snorted around beef and bun. God, he’d missed her. 

Bev  _ got _ it, she always had. Sometimes their eyes would meet while the others complained about their own parents, and they’d share a silent acknowledgement that the way they were raised was not  _ right _ . The other losers’ parents were people, while Eddie’s mom and Bev’s dad were bogeymen looming over them with every breath they took. It was a shitty thing to bond over, but it was better than going through it alone.

And they’d stood up to their parents—that summer, when they realized they deserved better than control and manipulation masked as affection and love. They knew that life was meant for more than living in fear of the people who claimed to love you.

But those hard-won battles were lost all over again after Derry, and they married people who matched the worst of their parents anyway.

And now Eddie wondered if he ever deserved better after all.

“You ever think you don’t know how to love right?” Eddie said. “Or—or be loved?”

Bev set her burger down on the foil wrapper on her lap and considered that. “The being loved part has always seemed like a bit of a trick, yeah.”

“Right?” Eddie said, a little relieved, as always, that she understood what he meant. “Like how… how do you know when it’s good for you?”

“You figure it out. Usually after it’s too late.” She flexed the bare fingers on her left hand. “He didn’t want me to leave. No one ever wants me to leave, so I stick around until it’s beyond fixing.” She met his eye. “But sacrifice isn’t love. And neither is becoming a ghost of yourself to make someone else happy.”

Eddie dropped his gaze to where he was carefully folding up the remains of his burger in its wrapper. The grease was making his stomach churn.

“I hated seeing you with your mom,” she whispered. “It was like she drained the life out of you. If your ex was anything like that—”

“Similar enough that I should’ve known better,” he muttered.

“I’m so sorry, Eds.”

He shook his head, gesturing at her. “I—you—the same thing happened to you. It’s not fair—”

“No, it’s not, it’s fucked up,” she agreed, “and it fucked me up. But I’ve got so much fucking love in me.” She squeezed his fingers and waited until he met her eyes, so she could stare straight into the core of him. “And so do you. So it’s not fair that you don’t know what to do with it, because we love you. And you love us.”

His eyes grew hot, overwhelmed all over again. He blinked rapidly before managing to reply, “But it’s not enough. I’ll fuck it up, I’ll ruin it and then what? He—” He buried his face in his hands, but it still all came tumbling out. “I can’t lose him again, but I keep hurting him like I  _ knew _ I would. And I keep hanging on—”

“Eddie—”

“It’s selfish, it’s so fucking selfish, acting like I couldn’t tell how he  _ felt,” _ his voice cracked. He wiped under his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. With a grave sort of finality, he said, “I can’t keep doing this to him, Bev.”

“Then stop,” Bev said. “Stop pulling your bullshit and be honest with him.”

“But then he’ll stay.”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

Eddie shook his head, muttering, “I want him to do what he wants.”

“Hey,” she said gently. “You know you’re not tricking him into loving you, right? You’re not your mom, and you’re not what she made you.”

He swallowed hard past a lump in his throat and shrugged noncommittally.

She squeezed his hand. “You know I’m right, right?”

“You don’t even know who I’m talking about.”

_ “Eddie,” _ she said, not unkindly, but clearly calling bullshit.

He bristled, taking a tight sip of his pop. “What?” 

“C’mon, Ben saw you and Richie come back looking rough after getting your tokens, which you two insisted on going together to find. You expect me to believe you’re this upset over—who? Some rando from New York?”

“Bev—”

She spread her hands. “You don’t have to give me details. But I’m here for you. Always.”

“Thank you,” he said, feeling wrung out like a wet cloth. “Same for you. I can get you the number for my divorce lawyer. Or—just, anything you need. I wanna be there for you.”

Her lower lip wobbled, and she wrapped him up in her arms. “I love you, Eddie.”

“Love you, Bev,” he mumbled into her shirt collar.

She kissed his hair, and they sat like that another moment, because the sun was starting to set, and they knew they had to get back soon, to kick off the beginning of the end of their time in Derry.

“You remember feeling fucking invincible taking it down the first time?” Bev asked.

He remembered her looking like Molly Ringwald-gone-Rambo when she stuck a spear in its face. And he remembered wailing on the clown in the center of their pack of losers, expending all the pent-up rage and fear keeping him vibrating at the highest frequency all his life.

“I didn’t stay that invincible,” Eddie said. “Or that brave.”

It was incredible how scared he’d been as a helpless kid, and how much more terrified he was now.

“You know bravery’s just doing the shit that scares you, right?” Bev’s voice shook as she said, “We’re all about to be the bravest we’ve ever been.”

When they got back to the motel, it was just Ben there, so Eddie thought Richie was out with Bill. And then Bill and Mike showed up without Richie, so Eddie figured he’d gone off with Stan. But then Stan and Patty came back from the synagogue on their own, and Eddie’s own stupidity slapped him in the face.

Eddie finally thought to call him, and Richie didn’t answer. He hadn’t really expected him to.

“Who had eyes on him last?” Stan asked, startled gaze bouncing between them the losers. “Did he go off alone, has he contacted anybody?”

Eddie shook his head. Stan was worried about the wrong thing, Eddie just had to work up the courage to tell them the truth.

“He dropped me and Eddie off here like two hours ago,” Bill said. “Has anyone seen him since?”

Bev paced the lobby, trying to call Richie herself.

“I know this is a long shot,” Patty began, hands spread, “but did anyone add him on a Find My Friends?”

“He left,” Eddie interrupted everyone’s frantic attempts to reach Richie. “He’s gone. I told him to leave.”

At a mutter, Stan said, “Why do you keep telling people to do that?” 

“But he wouldn’t just leave,” Mike said, talking over Stan. “We’re in this together. And we’re so close—”

Eddie closed his eyes. “He’s gone, Mike.”

“Why… why would you tell him to g-g-go?” Bill asked in confusion.

Eddie shrugged heavily as he sunk into an armchair. 

Resignation clung to his bones. At the same time he was tentatively relieved; one less person he’d have to worry about dying a grisly death right in front of his eyes. 

Richie had done the right thing. The smart thing. Exactly what Eddie told him to do. 

Stan tried calling Richie himself. He didn’t leave a voicemail.

“Well,” Bill started, looking lost. “What do we do now?”

Mike grabbed his satchel off the floor and dumped a pile of books onto the coffee table. He sorted through them wildly, throwing a glance at his watch. “We can… we can…  _ fuck.” _

“How would fucking help?” Eddie asked tiredly.

Bill pointed at Eddie, like he’d somehow made a good point. “Do we really  _ need _ Richie when we have Eddie? We get the same quips.”

“Hey, suck my dick, man.”

“Bill’s not wrong,” Stan said.

“Is this helping, Mike?” Eddie asked.

Mike cocked his head at him.

Before Mike could decide just how to answer that, Ben asked Bev tentatively. “Bev? Will we make it without Richie?”

She’d settled onto a chaise, flipping through one of Mike’s dusty books. She looked up, mouth agape, a little like a deer caught in the headlights. For a second Eddie thought she was having a psychic vision like on TV, but then she uttered, “Uh…” And nodded at Mike, “If—if we believe we will. Right, Mike?”

Which felt like a ‘no’, or at best an ‘I have no fucking idea’. 

But Mike nodded, seemingly invigorated by her question. “Yeah. Exactly. We’ll get through this by believing in the plan. We’ve all got our tokens, right?”

Everyone nodded, and Eddie patted his pocket confidently—only to  _ not _ be greeted by the hard outline of his inhaler.

“Shit,” he hissed. They all turned to him. He swore he could feel his throat closing up with an oncoming asthma attack. “I threw it in his car.”

“Richie’s?” Ben asked. As if there were ever any other option.

Eddie focused on regulating his breathing as he ran through the dwindling options. It was getting dark. The pharmacy was closed. They were running out of time, and besides—

“What else could you use?” Mike asked. 

“Nothing,” Eddie said faintly. “There’s nothing  _ here.” _

“What about in the clubhouse?” When they didn’t have time for another trek into the woods. “A comic book? Your fanny pack?”

Eddie was halfway through shaking his head before a laugh startled out of him. “What about the hammock? Burn the whole fucking thing for the both of us.”

He pressed the heel of his hands against his eyes, sinking into hopelessness. He’d fucked everything up, wholly and completely. He’d saved Richie just to doom the rest of them, ad now they were all gonna die because of Eddie and his inability to process emotions.

“That would be a lot of material to burn through…” Ben said, for some reason giving Eddie’s hysterical suggestion real thought.

“And an inhaler isn’t?” Eddie snapped. “Congratulations on all of your convenient pieces of paper, the best I could do was a hunk of metal and plastic that probably explodes under heat.” He flung his arm at the door. “Richie got a fucking metal coin from the arcade, how was this  _ ever _ supposed to work?”

Bill lifted a shoulder. “Magic?”

“Yeah,” Patty said, “I was definitely betting on magic butane or something.”

“What’d you guys get?”

Patty pulled a bird puzzle box out of her purse.

Stan, on the other hand, was staring at Eddie like he could read every last one of his thoughts straight off his forehead.

Eddie stood. “Lemme—I’ll see if I packed anything that could work.”

He left without waiting for a response, and when he got upstairs, he went straight to Richie’s room.

He suppressed the urge to slam the door behind him, just leaned against it as he blinked away last night’s memory of Richie frantically trying to clean up because of one offhand comment from Eddie.

Richie’s suitcase was gone now, but he’d missed a few things in his haste to leave. A lone sock, a wrinkled undershirt. Eddie bent to throw out a stray condom wrapper to save the housekeeping staff, even though he hadn’t seen any employees since they’d checked in. Instinctively, he straightened out the sex-drenched sheets as well, all crumpled up and draped halfway onto the floor. 

A pink hat tumbled out.

Eddie let the sheets fall slip through his fingers as he looked down at it.

A sequined narwhal smiled back at him.

Eddie remembered the day he gave it to Richie—window shopping and then a walk along the waterfront, wrapped up with dinner and a show. A date, clearly it had been a date. Like Richie wanted. Because he’d wanted Eddie this whole time. 

Maybe if Eddie had let himself be wanted, Richie would still be here.

He swiped the hat off the ground and stuck it in his jacket pocket. He didn’t want to burn it, but maybe the sacrifice would be enough. In any case, it would have to do.

Leaving the room, he gave into temptation and let the door slam shut behind him.

He charged down the stairs and straight for the front doors past his friends in the lobby. “Let’s go if we’re going.”

“You found a token up there?” Mike asked skeptically.

“I found something.” He tapped his foot impatiently, waving at the open doorway. “Can we get this over with?”

Bill and Mike led the group along Neibolt, straight down the middle of street. Bev and Ben walked behind them, then Stan and Patty. Eddie trailed last. 

His focus should’ve rested on what was ahead of him; taking down a killer clown with his childhood friends. Staying alive. Saving a town that’s given him the best and the worst. 

But his attention kept drifting to the empty space beside him. Even if he was prepared to use Bev’s advice, he wasn’t going to get the chance, but maybe that was for the best. Richie had made his choice.

He tried to convince himself that it was good that Richie wasn’t here. Safer, for sure, at least for Richie.

Eddie pulled the hat from his pocket and watched the design sparkle under the yellowed streetlight. 

He’d told Richie to save himself, because he knew Richie.

And he never thought he would leave them.

“Hey guys,” Eddie called to halt their approach.

They paused, looking back at him.

He opened his mouth to say he was gonna try calling Richie again, but before he could, a squealing echoed down the block. Eddie whipped around, heart in his throat as images of the clown on a hellish motorcycle popped into his head.

Instead, two headlights appeared at the end of the street, growing brighter with its rapid approach. Stan pulled Patty off the road to safety on the sidewalk, but Eddie just watched in anticipation.

The car jerked to a stop twenty feet away, and the engine cut out sharply. Without the blinding headlights, Eddie could recognize the obnoxiously bright red paint.

Not for the first time, the driver’s side door smacked open, and Richie tumbled out.

Relief washed through Eddie so abruptly his knees buckled.

“What, you thought I’d let you do this without me?” He addressed the group as a whole, but Richie’s eyes were glued to Eddie’s.

Without consciously planning to move, Eddie found himself racing across the street for him. He hit his solid chest with a thud, hugging him tight as Richie’s arms went around him instantly. He drowned in the steadiness of Richie’s embrace, the comfort he always found there.

“Thanks for showing up, Richie,” Stan said dryly.

Richie shifted his arm around Eddie’s back, in a motion that was almost certainly flipping Stan the bird.

Eddie dug his face into Richie’s collar for one more moment. “I’m sorry.”

He’d intended to pull back, but Richie’s mouth dropped to his ear, “Thought you wanted me out of here, Eds.”

“I can’t—” Eddie stopped to correct himself, voice muffled by Richie’s shirt. “I don’t  _ want _ to do this without you.”

“You don’t have to,” he promised. “I’d never—”

With an astonishing inability to read a room, Mike and Bill chose that moment to join in on the hug.

“I never doubted you, man.” Bill clapped Richie’s back.

Mike gave them all a big squeeze. “We got this.”

Richie dropped his head back and started laughing, jostling all of them against each other. 

Eddie heard Patty whisper, “Are they… serious?”

“I’m so tired,” Stan replied. Louder, he called, “Eddie, didn’t you wanna get this over with? Where’d that energy go? We can hug after.”

This time Eddie flipped him the bird.

But they did disentangle, and they finished the walk to Neibolt house. 

Eddie kept looking at Richie, and he kept looking back, and surely he could tell, right? What Eddie would be saying if they were anywhere else? He had to be able to read the  _ later, just a little longer, _ carved into his expression. Just a little longer, and Eddie would fix everything. 

Richie circled Eddie’s wrist as they reached their destination, and some stirring, crackling feeling in Eddie’s chest settled just a little.

The house loomed in front of them, just as intimidating and racked with building code violations as when they were kids. If the clown didn’t kill them, maybe a rotting beam falling from the ceiling would. 

“Stay with me in there, okay?” Richie said quietly. “Don’t go tearing off any heads by yourself.”

“Don’t worry,” Eddie assured him, “I’ll protect you.”

A chuckle rumbled in Richie’s throat, and Eddie wondered if he could kiss him.

“Tokens?” Mike asked Richie, again interrupting a perfectly good moment.

He pulled his coin and Eddie’s inhaler from his jacket with one hand. Eddie scooped his inhaler up, fingers brushing Richie’s clammy palm.

Mike nodded, satisfied. “You think those will work better than whatever you found in the motel, Eddie?”

Richie lifted a brow at Eddie. Without saying anything, he handed Richie his hat. 

“Oh.” He stuck it on over his sweaty hair.

Eddie bit his cheek to hide a soft  _ Oh _ of his own.

Patty handed out makeshift weapons; baseball bats, crowbars, shovels. “At the very least, we can take out some pent-up rage before we burn shit.”

The last-minute preparations drew to a close. They were ready now, as ready as they’d ever be.

Bill asked Richie for words he’d spoke when they were kids.

Eddie saw Richie as he was now, shoulders pulled back out of the slouch he used to make himself smaller, less impactful. And at the same time he saw the scrappy bug-eyed boy in the sewers, ready to go to hell for his friends.

They were all then-and-now’s, itching to finish what they’d started and move on to real lives free of fear.

Richie said, “Let’s kill this fucking clown.” 

And the loser's club headed inside, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next stop Neibolt house! Two chapters left, can you believe??  
> No promises, but I am gonna try to get the epilogue out just a few days after next chapter, so hopefully this'll all be wrapped up in another week and a half.  
> Lemme know what you thought of this chap!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! I’m tired, so I’ll keep this quick! As I mentioned on twitter (@doeeyeskasprak) earlier today, I’m splitting this chapter in half because it got too long, and will be posting the second half of this chapter tomorrow, if all goes as planned! Epilogue will hopefully be up sometime the week.  
> Warnings for general clown buffoonery/horror elements and blood

They made it through the house together and into the sewers, but once they got down there, just like last time, somehow it split them up. 

One second, Eddie was running through the sewers under Neibolt with his friends, then one wrong turn, and he was alone.

“R-Richie? Bev?” His voice echoed through the cavernous tunnels stretching endlessly on either side of him. He wiped his nose against the damp, mouldy stench that suffused the air. “Anybody?”

Shit. Shit. Why didn’t they all hold hands, or tie a rope around each other’s waists to keep them in a neat line together—anything to keep them united against this stupid clown’s bullshit?

“Hello?” he tried again. 

When he got nothing but his own voice bouncing back at him, he went to fish his phone out of his pocket. 

Shallow splashing sounded from behind him, making him ready his crowbar instead. He whirled, heart pounding but ready to fight, just to see the familiar shape of Richie dashing gracelessly toward him. 

“Richie!” Eddie slumped in relief.

“Eds, come on, we gotta go.” Richie grabbed his arm and kept running. “We gotta get you out of here.”

“Is it coming?” Eddie looked over his shoulder as they ran. “I don’t see anything, I think you lost it. We gotta find the others—”

“Not you, you have to get out of here,” Richie said. “You’re not gonna make it.”

Eddie stumbled to a stop, his arm dropping from Richie’s grasp. “What—what do you mean? Did Bev have a vision?”

“There’s no time, we have to get you out—”

“We have to kill it,” Eddie corrected, confused. He stepped back as Richie reached for him again. His grip turned slick against the crowbar, but he stood his ground. “We’ll finish this once and for all, and then—”

“And then what?” Richie’s bottom lip quivered. “I can’t lose you again, please. Just come with me, let me keep you safe.”

Eddie’s swallowed, voice wavering. “Forget about whatever it made you see, I’ll be okay, I promise. We need to kill it, Rich.”

“Why, so you can die without ever picking me?” Richie retorted, voice strained. Eddie’s breath left him, and Richie went for his elbow again. “We both know you’re not strong enough for this, Eddie.”

Eddie wrenched away, brackish water splashing up the backs of his legs in his haste. His chest heaved with the force it took to listen to Richie—rather, to whatever _looked_ like Richie. Because the real Richie would never say that to him. It wasn’t fucking _true._

He opened his mouth to argue, because even though it wasn’t Richie, it still looked like him, and the instinct to connect was still there.

Until Richie’s expression morphed from sad puppy dog to wickedly entertained. He grinned, eyes too wide, lips spread to show off too many teeth. _“You’re never gonna pick me, are you, Eddie?”_

Eddie spun. Arms pumping, heart clenching as he fled back the way he came. Anywhere had to be safer than here.

 _“Come back to me, Eddie baby!”_ it taunted in Richie’s voice as it chased him. _“Why are you always running? Just like when you were a kid. Still just a cowardly little boy!”_

But running wasn’t always cowardly. Not now, and not back then, his sparkling white Keds pounding dirt after his mom begged him to sit still and stay clean. 

_“Running away hard enough to hurt your lungs, even when it’s from something you want.”_

“You’re not Richie!” Eddie shouted. 

_“Oh, but you want him, don’t you?”_ it replied in an ear-splitting shriek that sounded too much like his mother. _“Sick, that’s sick!”_

Its thudding footfalls behind him turned skittering. Its heckling seemed to be coming from above Eddie now. Growing taller, maybe. Or crawling across the ceiling like the horrible spider heads they’d fought in the kitchen. 

Eddie swallowed the urge to turn around and sneak a peek.

_“You’ll always be a weak, sick little boy. You know that, Eddie. You can’t survive on your own.”_

That wasn’t true either. Eddie _could_ be alone, he could survive, he was a fully functional adult capable of supporting himself. He’d just been miserable on his own, because you weren’t supposed to live like that. Alone with no one to care about but yourself. Isolating himself didn't make him happy, or stronger, or a better person. His friends did.

“You don’t know me, asshole!” The crowbar shook violently in Eddie’s hand as he ran. “You’ve spent the last twenty seven years at the bottom of a well, you don’t know shit! I’m not fucking sick, I never was!”

 _“But you are alone.”_ It retorted, sounding closer than he’d expected.

He stumbled over a rock, or a skull, or some other horrible object lodged in the ground. It only took Eddie a moment to steady himself, but it was already too late; he could feel its heavy breathing on his neck. It was over.

Unless he fought it. That’s what it wanted, right? For Eddie to stop running.

With a spark of defiance, Eddie whirled to face it.

A strangled yelp caught his throat, but he bit his cheek to stifle the sound.

The creature had tripled in size, too big for it to make sense hanging upside like that. It clung to the ceiling with eight spindly legs, its long neck corkscrewed so its grotesque clown head looked at Eddie right side up. Strands of viscous saliva fluttered with each heaving breath it took from its gaping maw.

It unhinged its jaw to laugh, and hot spittle sputtered past its needle-like teeth onto Eddie.

He jerked back with a grimace. “Fuck, ew! That’s disgusting! You’re fucking gross!”

And then he smacked it in the face with his crowbar.

It barely flinched. 

_“Oh, you wanna play with me, Eddie?”_ it asked with a cloying giggle. Thick, syrupy spit stretched between its lips and rows of sharp teeth, like it had just stuck its face into a vat of red-tinged honey. _“I love games.”_

“You know you sound like Winnie the fucking Pooh?” He was lightheaded from adrenaline when he smacked it again. The force of the hit vibrated up his arms, and the monster lurched backward. “Your cartoon-ass voice might work on six year olds, but it’s not gonna work on me. You piece of shit, life-ruining _dumpster_ clown—”

It hissed, crouching on the ground a few feet away from him. _“I will consume your flesh and grind your bones—”_

“Eat my ass!”

Eddie punctuated his shout by flinging his crowbar at its eye. 

It shrieked horribly, its weird needle legs scraping rock.

Then the cavern walls around Eddie flickered, and he was back where he started, with no monstrous sight in front of him.

Eddie looked around, spun in a circle, and when he was sure there was no clown in sight, he leaned on his knees, chest heaving. 

Breathless laughter fell from his throat. He felt—invigorated. Ready for anything else the clown had to throw at him.

“Fuck you, clown!” he yelled triumphantly at nothing. “Fuck—”

“Eds?” 

Eddie turned to his left to see Richie jogging out of an intersecting tunnel. 

Okay, he could do this. The clown was a fucking dumbass. Richie was not.

“Are you alright?” Richie said. His eyes were red-rimmed. “Have you—”

“What’re we gonna do when we find everybody?” Eddie asked as Richie approached him.

“Huh? Burn some shit, right?" he asked expectantly. "Kick this clown’s ass?”

Eddie grinned recklessly as Richie closed the distance between them.

Richie’s palm curved his hip as he looked down at him, breathing hard. “You good?”

“So good.” A shout travelled down from another tunnel; their friends needed help. Eddie took Richie’s hand in his. “Let’s go.”

The ritual didn’t work, to the clear shock of everyone, because they had not prepared a Plan B. They’d believed, but it still hadn’t worked.

So they’d regrouped and physically fought the personification of evil together, just like when they were kids. As though this was how it had been destined from the start. 

“I killed it!” Eddie shouted. “I think—we killed it—”

For a second, he thought they’d won. During the time it took for a tentative smile to cross his face and soak in the solidness of Richie underneath him, while he considered closing this chapter with an end-of-movie kiss, he lived in a reality where they’d already won.

Things happened in blinks after that.

Stan shouted, “Look out!”

_Blink._

Eddie turned to look at Stan.

_Blink._

Richie’s arms squeezed tight around his ribs.

_Blink._

Eddie’s world turned to a blur.

_Blink._

And then was Richie panting on top of him as a jagged claw pierced the stone where they’d laid moments ago.

“Holy shit,” dropped from Eddie’s mouth.

Richie stumbled to his feet, and he shakily yanked Eddie up with him.

Before he could even properly process his relief, pain lanced across Eddie’s left side under his ribs. A shocked gasp ripped from his throat.

“Eddie?” Richie asked, free hand moving to hover over Eddie’s side unsurely.

“Ow,” Eddie said in a small voice. “Oh, _ow.”_

He slipped a questioning hand under his torn jacket. A sob burbled up his throat as warm, wet liquid gushed over his fingers. 

“What’s wrong?” Richie demanded, immediately frantic. “Eddie, what happened?”

“I’m fine,” Eddie said, going a little lightheaded as he brought his hand up to look at the shiny red blood coating it.

“Oh shit!” 

Eddie gulped down a breath as a whooziness took hold of him.

Tetanus. Gangrene. Blood loss. 

_He’s leaking Hamburger Helper!_

_How do you amputate a waist?_

Eddie wobbled where he stood.

Richie lunged to catch him by the elbow. He tried to go in for a look, but Eddie pressed down on his jacket to hide whatever was wrong with him.

“Guys?” Richie yelled. “Down, man down, we’ve got— _guys!”_

Stan and Patty got there first. He reached out to help Richie take Eddie’s weight, but Eddie shook his head.

Stupidly calm, he said, “Don’t strain yourself, Stan. Your stitches—”

Wasting no time, Patty slipped in to take Eddie’s opposite side instead, and they hustled him to a smaller cavern hollowed out of the rock.

 _“Guess he couldn’t cut it!”_ the clown tossed out a gurgling chuckle as it gnawed on the spear Eddie had thrown.

Patty whipped over her shoulder, “Nobody’s fucking talking to you!”

“Winnie the Pooh-talking piece of shit,” Eddie mumbled incoherently.

He hid his wince as they gingerly set him down against the cave wall. Richie was on his opposite side, so it was just Stan and Patty seeing the puddle of blood growing on the floor next to Eddie.

“What?” Richie patted his cheek. “What’d you say? Stay with us, Eds.”

Eddie swallowed hard.

“He sounds like…” He closed his eyes, leaning into Richie’s calloused palm. If he focused on Richie’s hand on his face, he could ignore the pain and pretend none of this was happening to him. “Sounds like Winnie the Pooh.”

“Huh?”

The others had joined them by then. 

Mike had replaced Patty in kneeling beside Eddie looking worried. “What happened? Let me see.”

 _‘Winnie the Pooh?’_ Richie mouthed, head tilted consideringly.

“He didn’t like when I called him that,” Eddie said.

With Richie distracted, Eddie met Mike’s eye, trying to silently convey that he should _not_ make a big deal about whatever was under Eddie’s jacket, no matter how bad it looked. Mike just gestured impatiently at him, so Eddie moved his hand. Mike peeled away the tattered pieces of Eddie’s shirt and jacket. 

His face _dropped,_ but in the next moment his face was carefully neutral, and he started unbuttoning his shirt. Calmly, he said, “We’ll need to dress the wound.”

“I kind of…” Bill scratched his cheek, not looking at the wound at all. “Hear more of a Scooby Doo, actually.”

Mike had opened his mouth, presumably to say something sensible, but instead turned to stare at him. _“Bill.”_

“I’m with Eddie, I think,” Ben pitched in.

“Right?” Eddie coughed, encouraging this half of the conversation. “Stupid piece of honey-eating shit.”

“Guys—” Mike started, shrugging his button-up off his broad shoulders.

Bev frowned. “I mean, now that you’ve said something, he _definitely_ sounds like a cartoon, but…”

“Tigger?” Patty offered.

“It’s Goofy!” Mike said shortly. “He sounds like fucking Goofy—”

Which was the moment he pressed his shirt to Eddie’s cut to stifle the bleeding. 

Eddie cried out, vision going white from the sharp pain burning his side.

When it faded enough for him to be aware of his surroundings again, the mood in the cave had tensed.

He blamed it on Richie desperately repeating his name, “Eddie, Eds, babe.” When his eyes fluttered open again, Richie squeezed his clean hand and asked, “Mike, how bad is it, how bad—”

Mike’s hands were steady, an even pressure against Eddie’s wound, but his voice wobbled saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry—”

“Mike?” Richie yelped, arching over Eddie’s body to look.

Eddie weakly slapped his chest to hold him back. “It’s fine, Richie,” he mumbled. “Mike, you didn’t do anything—”

He shook his head, blinking furiously. “No, it’s my fault, I called you all back. I thought I’d figured it out, but the ritual failed, and now you’re hurt, and we have no way to stop it—”

Richie, choking back tears, struggled against Eddie to see for himself, but Eddie fisted his shirt to keep him still. 

This wasn’t right. They still had a clown to kill, and they _could._ They could do it.

“We do, Mike,” Eddie said, fighting through a wave of dizziness. “I called him gross, a cartoon. Told him to eat my ass, and he backed off.”

Mike’s forehead creased in confusion. “You told it to eat your—”

“He wants to be big,” Eddie continued, “but he’s just a…”

Richie’s face cleared, his wet eyes magnified by his glasses. “A clown.”

He nodded, cupping Richie’s hard jaw as he said, “He wants to be a clown so bad, fuckin’ laugh at him. See how he likes it.”

 _“Losers,”_ its garish voice grew closer as it moved through from the main cavern. _“Come out and play…”_

Their chance to hide and strategize was drawing to a close. It was do or die time, and Eddie was pretty sure he couldn’t do anything, but the rest of them could.

Stan met Eddie’s gaze with a determined glint in his eye. “Well, if that’s how we kill it—”

He looked to Patty, who took his outstretched hand. They headed out together. 

Stan threw his head back. “You wanna fucking go, you Ronald McDonald wannabe?”

“Cheap-ass side-of-the-road circus clown!” Patty yelled. “You think you’re the Ringling brothers, you’re the fucking sideshow!”

Bev nodded at Eddie, hefting her baseball bat over her shoulder as she led Ben and Bill back into the fray. “You into makeup now? I can makeover your face with this bat, you beauty school dropout bastard!”

“Oh, oh!” Ben shouted excitedly. “Failed Instagram MUA! Failed Instagram MUA!”

Faintly, as they got farther away, Bill offered, “Scooby Doo with pneumonia!”

Still kneeling next to Eddie, Mike looked at Richie, then down at his bloodied hands holding his soaked shirt. “Keep pressure until we can get him out of here, okay, Richie? He’s already bled through this, you’re gonna wanna redress it.”

“Oh god,” dropped out of Richie as he finally crossed to Eddie’s other side.

“It’s okay,” Eddie said pointlessly. “Mike, you got this. We can kill it. We just gotta believe.”

“I do. I believe in you, Eddie,” he said, and then he took off to join the others. 

And it was Eddie and Richie alone.

Eddie parted his lips to tell him what he deserved to hear, but Richie pulled back Mike’s shirt, like a second skin plastered to Eddie’s wet abdomen, and his face blanched. “Oh shit, oh shit, Eddie.”

Quickly, Richie balled up his leather jacket against Eddie’s wound, and if Eddie wasn’t overcome with a new rush of pain, he’d have snapped that leather was a terrible material to absorb blood with, and that jacket would end up ruined for absolutely no reason.

But Richie was sobbing now, trying in vain to swallow his tears, babbling, “It’s okay, you’re okay, you’re bleeding, but you’re okay, Eddie, oh my god—”

Eddie tried to lift his head, but even that small motion made him dizzy. He thumped his head against the wall and Richie wrenched his gaze away from where he was urgently applying pressure. 

“I’m sorry, Richie, I’m so fucking sorry. I shouldn’t’ve—”

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay—”

“No, you didn’t deserve how I treated you.” Eddie swallowed past a dry throat. “I didn’t mean it, I was just so scared—”

“I was scared too, okay? But I came back,” Richie choked out, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand and streaking it with Eddie’s blood. “I came back, and I’ll get you out of here, baby.”

The tenderness of the endearment squeezed the air from his lungs.

Even at the best of times, casual affection burned through Eddie’s chest with warmth, which couldn’t be healthy. Because happiness that radiated so deep inside him he could taste it wasn’t good for him. 

He’d known that since he was young.

Maybe it was the blood loss, but he was starting to poke some holes in that theory.

Growing up, he’d avoided sugar and running fast, stopped his gaze from lingering on Richie in class, chastised himself for letting their hugs drag on too long.

Because too much sugar caused cavities. Too much running triggered his asthma. And too much Richie would turn Eddie into a rotten little boy who’d break his mother’s heart and pay attention to boys in all the wrong ways.

But here’s the thing.

“My teeth are fucking pristine,” Eddie whispered. “I don’t _have_ asthma.”

Richie frowned. “What?”

“And Richie.” He cupped his face. “I l—”

“Oh, hey— _no.”_ Richie startled, fumbling with the jacket pressed to Eddie’s side.

“Wha—”

 _“Here?”_ he gasped, wet eyes wide. “Now? _No,_ are you—? You can wait, you bastard.”

Eddie wheezed a laugh, wincing through the sting. He covered Richie’s slick hand with his. “Wait until when? There’s so much blood—”

He gave a frantic shake of his head. “Don’t—stop it, it’s not that deep.”

“That’s what she said.”

Richie cupped Eddie’s face, chuckling a little, and pressed a salty kiss to his lips. “You’re my favourite, you know that?”

And as Eddie bled out over Richie’s jacket, all he could think was: of course. Of course this was how he ended up. He’d wasted half his adult life being deliberately miserable, and then after a brief respite of enjoying himself, it was all finishing up in a clown cave under a haunted house. He didn’t get a real ending, a triumphant kiss, a ride off into the sunset.

It was just this; bleeding out in Richie’s arms.

Was there any other way to go?

“Richie!” Bill shouted. “We could use some backup out here!”

Richie shook his head, tossing a glance over his shoulder.

Their friends’ frantic jeers rose through the cavern, almost overwhelming the evil they were trying to defeat. They were winning, it was almost over. Richie would help them finish it.

“Go,” Eddie urged. “Tear its head off for me.”

Richie’s lips twitched into a soft half-smile. “I’ll be right back.”

He got Eddie to apply pressure with his leather jacket (again, a terrible material for this purpose) and was about to stand when Eddie wrapped his fingers in his shirt. 

“I’ll move in with you, Rich,” he said raggedly, words spilling from his cold lips as fast as he could get them out. “I want to. I wanna be with you. You know I—”

“I know, Eds.” Richie pressed a kiss to his hairline and came away with blood on his lips. “I know.”

Eddie watched him go.

“You think you’re funny?” Richie’s voice boomed through the cavern. “You want a roast, you piece of shit? You got pushed down a well by a bunch of twelve year olds, what kind of dumbass comes crawling for a rematch after that?”

Eddie’s eyes fluttered shut as his friends viciously mocked the demon who ruined their lives. Its voice got smaller, more desperate, as it ran out of ways to fight back.

He should be with them. 

He peered at Richie’s jacket under his hand. Maybe it felt worse than it was? And he could get up and join the fight.

Gingerly, he peeled back the leather.

Richie had said the cut wasn’t that deep, which Eddie couldn’t confirm even now. How shallow did a lengthy, jagged gash splitting open his side have to be before it ‘wasn’t that deep’?

His guts and ribs weren’t visible, that had to be a positive, right?

Just your normal, everyday slice from an alien clown claw, gushing blood onto the cave floor with every heartbeat—

Eddie promptly passed out.

Eddie had a dream about the quarry.

Or experienced a memory, clear as day.

But it had to be a dream, right?

Maybe it was just a thought expressing itself in an entirely new way.

In any case—a turtle sat on a rock.

_You won, if you believe that your life is an experience to be won._

It was talking. Transmitting, maybe, was the better word. Right to Eddie. He stood at the edge of the water, nearly motionless save for the breeze that carried through the tree leaves into his hair.

_It doesn’t always end like this, you know._

It was just a little turtle. The kind they sold at the pet store that could give you salmonella. Late afternoon sunlight dappled its hard shell and made its unblinking black eyes glisten.

_You know, because you hold dear every single ‘could’ve, would be, should’ve been’._

The turtle didn’t feel new, but its attention did. Somehow the looking, the addressing Eddie directly, was more startling than the turtle communicating in the first place. 

_But those futures aren’t yours to worry for anymore, to tend to like a needy hatchling. You can breathe, Eddie._

Eddie took a deep breath. He frowned as a sharp pain stabbed into his side. “Hey. Ow.”

_You won, because you believe your lives are worth winning._

Either Eddie closed his eyes or the turtle did, because his vision faded to black. 

He wasn’t aware of anything but the rhythmic beating of his heart for three steady thumps of it, and then he wasn’t aware of anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ✌✌ Lemme know your thoughts! Hope it was okay I skipped past the action scenes, I just had better things to spend my time on imo.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't know if the way I split up the chapters was the way that made the most sense, but we're here now!  
> Warnings for brief mention of homophobia

An annoying beeping drew Eddie from the nothingness he’d found himself in. 

Taking into account the antiseptic smell and flat pillow under his head, he’d hazard a guess that he was in a hospital bed. Not his favourite place, but there were worse places to end up, especially considering the gaping wound in his side. Though he assumed it was less gaping now, since the searing pain had been relegated to a dull ache.

He shifted slightly where he lay, not quite awake enough to go through the effort of opening his eyes, and warm fingers tightened around his.

“Man, did we uh… did we miss something?” he heard Bill ask.

“What?” Richie replied from beside Eddie. “No, we killed it, didn’t we? The tokens didn’t work, but we bullied the thing to death, it’s gotta be gone, the ground swallowed up a whole fucking building—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Bill cut him off like he was a horse galloping in the wrong direction. “I meant _that.”_

Richie’s thumb brushed over Eddie’s knuckles.

“Were we supposed to notice?” Bill asked tentatively.

“No.” Something sweaty—Richie’s forehead if the hair was any indication—fell onto the back of Eddie’s hand. “God, it’s stupid now. I’m gay, Bill. I’m gay.”

Bill was quiet for a moment. “I’m um… I’m not supposed to say I knew, right? I mean, I d-d-didn’t. Until… recent events.”

Eddie snorted.

“Eds?” Richie’s chair scraped the floor before he gently cupped his face. “Eddie, baby, can you hear me?”

Eddie cracked an eye open. “I hope you’re not crying,” he croaked. “Bill, is he crying?”

Richie kissed his forehead wetly, answering his question wordlessly before Bill could.

“Less than before,” Bill supplied. “How’re you doing?”

“Hm.” Eddie considered the question. His skin still had the sheen of sewer gunk in some spots, and his hair was matted to the back of his head in what he could only imagine was similar gunk. Despite the painkillers no doubt pumping through the IV he was hooked up to, he still kind of felt like he’d been hit by a truck. But all that didn’t matter as long as, “We won?”

He felt the answer in his bones before either of them spoke.

“Yeah,” Richie said with big, shining eyes. “Yeah, you were right. We made it feel like shit, we made it small. And we killed it.”

Eddie smiled softly at Richie, even though Bill had asked the question. “Then I’m doing great.”

Miraculously, Richie just looked exhausted instead of grimy, so the losers must’ve made him shower at least once while Eddie was out. The left lens of his glasses was broken, but that didn’t stop him from gazing at Eddie tenderly enough to crack his chest in two.

“I love you,” Eddie told him.

Richie’s jaw dropped the tiniest bit toward a smile before he sputtered a watery laugh. “Hey, I was gonna say it first!”

“You can say it second,” Eddie offered graciously. 

Bill cleared his throat. “I’ll let everybody know you’re awake, Eddie.”

He thanked Bill, but Richie didn’t spare him a second glance as he left the room. He kept all his focus on Eddie, like he’d wisp off into smoke if he looked away.

“I love you,” Richie breathed with a wondrous relief. He peppered kisses across Eddie’s face, his eager affection making Eddie smile through the tears welling in his eyes. “I love you, Eddie, oh my god. I’m so in love with you.”

Eddie didn’t trust himself to speak past the lump in his throat, so he took hold of Richie’s chin and planted his mouth solidly to his. The kiss was a balm soothing the raggedness in Eddie’s heart. He loved him, he loved him, he loved him, and he could _taste_ it, felt like he could swallow the emotion off his lips and hold it tight, finally keep it safe and treasure it like he should’ve from the start.

“Love you,” Richie murmured again, licking at Eddie’s bottom lip.

Eddie hummed contentedly, tucking a strand of Richie’s hair behind his ear. “You gonna say it more times now just because you couldn’t say it first?”

“I _wanted_ to say it first,” he shot back with a smile.

Eddie dropped his gaze, some of his lightheartedness fading. “I know. I’m sorry—”

“No, c’mon.” Richie patted Eddie’s legs, and he carefully moved them to the side so there was room for Richie to sit on the mattress. Once he was situated, he took Eddie’s hand again and set it in his lap to absentmindedly play with his fingers. “I meant it’s been since high school, dude. When I left yesterday, I only got as far as the kissing bridge, you know why?”

Eddie shook his head.

“I carved our initials there when we were like thirteen.” He looked at Eddie with such raw, honest emotion that he almost started crying again. “You’ve always been it for me, Spaghetti.”

“Oh.”

Richie had already told him as much, but it was still a shock to hear how in his feelings Richie had been back then when Eddie had been willfully oblivious to what Richie meant to him.

“I was just,” Eddie started, “dumb and scared in high school.”

“Me too.”

“God, I was dumb and scared _yesterday,”_ Eddie groaned, running his free hand through his crusty hair. “It was yesterday right?”

“Probably? I haven’t been sleeping.”

Eddie looped his fingers through his. Teasing but gentle he said, “Just crying at my bedside?

“I haven’t been crying the _whole_ time,” Richie defended as he scrubbed the remnants of tears from his cheeks. “Definitely in the sewers, though. Hate to admit it, but I didn’t heroically carry you to safety. Mike and Ben got you out while Stan hauled out my sobbing ass.”

“Your _ass_ was sobbing?” he asked, latching onto a joke to bypass the gravity of the situation. “That sounds serious, did you get that looked at?”

Richie winked. “Yeah they said I need a good dick in me to plug it up.”

He snorted a laugh. “That’s disgusting, you’re disgusting. I love you so much.”

Richie grinned at him, and it greeted Eddie like sunshine after a storm, warming him all the way through. How had he made them both wait so long to feel like this?

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said again. “For making you feel like shit. I never wanna do that—”

“No, you don’t have to apologize—”

“I do. Don’t let me passing out in a sewer get me off the hook for being an asshole.”

“You almost died, man,” Richie replied with a whine in his voice.

Eddie softened. “But I didn’t.”

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have picked a fight in the middle of all this. We were already freaked out, and I made it worse—”

“But you were right,” he said. “I wanted to be with you, I want to _now,_ I always did. I was just… scared.” 

Eddie took a moment to gather his thoughts, and Richie let him. He waited patiently as Eddie found the words for a realization he should’ve been able to parse long ago.

“My mom tricked me into believing I was weak and sick. When I forgot that wasn’t true, Myra made me think I needed her to keep me safe, that I couldn’t be a person without her.” 

He looked at Richie, even though he’d barely taken his gaze off him since he’d woken up. His eyes were puffy from crying and lack of sleep, he was a week past needing a shave, and he was so, so beautiful. 

Eddie’s heart had been bursting with love for him for longer than he could remember.

“And I tricked myself into believing I couldn’t be happy. That if I had you like I wanted, it would all fall apart.” Eddie squeezed his hand. “But I’m not letting myself be fooled anymore. I love you, and we deserve to be happy, Rich.”

Richie nodded. “We are. I am—I’m so happy, Eddie,” he rushed out with a breathtaking smile. “I love you and I just—that’s what I wanna do. Loving you makes me happy.”

So Eddie stopped pretending Richie’s actions meant anything other than his intentions.

Richie kissed him again, and it meant _I love you._ He gave a happy little hum from his chest, and it meant _we’ll build a home together._ He brushed his thumb across Eddie’s cheekbone and it meant _this could have gone a hundred different ways, and aren’t we so fucking lucky it ended like this?_

Eddie might’ve been projecting with the specifics on that last one, but the sentiment was definitely the same; they’d survived, which felt like a miracle, and they would continue surviving, hand in hand, which was a gift.

After another minute, a doctor interrupted to check his vitals. Eddie was in the middle of asking him about his surgery, which the doctor kept saying went flawlessly but Eddie wanted _details,_ when the losers started streaming in. They were almost certainly over the visitor limit per patient, but the doctor took their entrance as an opportunity to flee from Eddie’s interrogation.

The losers showered him with hugs and flowers and teddy bears, but most importantly Eddie’s toiletry bag from the motel, as a well as dry shampoo.

“Oh my god, thank you,” Eddie said to Patty as she sprayed half the can onto his hair. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Yeah, _that’s_ what saved your life,” Stan said dryly.

Richie laughed, tongue poking from his lips as he fluffed Eddie’s hair with his fingers once Patty was done.

“Oh,” Eddie scoffed, waving off Stan’s comment. “Yeah, yeah, thank you everybody, I love you all, I owe you a life debt and all that. I think we’ve all cried enough over me, though.”

“Some of us more than others?” Mike lifted a brow, looking between Richie and Eddie. “Not to uh…”

“Not to pry,” Ben supplied, and Mike nodded in agreement as Ben continued, “You don’t have to explain anything but… apparently congratulations are in order?”

“What, on how big my dick is?” Richie said. “Thanks, Ben.”

Exasperated groans filled the room, and Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Wait, Eddie—” Bev said, face lighting with glee. “Tell us whether he’s full of shit or not, and then he can finally stop making those jokes.”

Eddie’s face flushed red. “First of all, _Beverly,_ bold of you to assume he’d ever stop—”

“Wait, am I _still_ missing something?” Bill thankfully interrupted. Ben and Mike looked similarly confused. “I thought you guys just got together.”

“Ah, no, he’s been enjoying my big—”

Eddie slapped a hand over Richie’s mouth, talking over him as he continued mumbling against his skin. “We’ve been dating a few months now.”

Richie kissed his palm.

“You didn’t remember each other?” Mike asked.

Richie shook his head, and Eddie cautiously lowered his hand. “Luckily I’m pretty charming.”

“You made a joke about your long dong five minutes into a conversation with a perfect stranger,” Eddie said flatly.

He winked. “But it worked.”

“Sounds like the start of a beautiful relationship,” Patty said dryly.

“Well.” Eddie turned to Richie. “More of a middle, I guess.”

A smile caught Richie’s lips, and he kissed Eddie’s temple. “Hell of a middle.”

Eddie grinned back. “Can’t wait to see the rest.”

After Eddie got released from the the hospital, things moved pretty quick. To Steve’s incredible dismay, Richie cancelled the rest of his tour. Instead, he drove Eddie back to New York and hung around for a week while he got his affairs in order before moving across the country.

Eddie didn’t have much stuff, so he didn’t feel too bad when Richie insisted he sit on the couch instead of help pack. He’d be donating most of it anyway, since it was easier than shipping a bunch of shit he didn’t care about to California.

“Except for your prized possession, of course,” Richie said when Eddie mentioned his whole entertainment setup could just get donated. Eddie lifted a brow, and Richie pointed to his TV. “Your special gift from a very handsome gentleman suitor will of course be coming with us.”

“Didn’t you say you had like three TVs already?” Eddie asked.

“Yours is nicer,” he assured him. “We’re bringing it back.”

Then Richie set about swearing and disassembling the TV stand while Eddie texted Bev. She was sorting things out too, and he was happy to answer her divorce questions the best he could. Happy to have friends at all, and especially ones he loved so much. 

He was about to send a picture of Richie struggling with manual labour to their group chat, only to look up and find he’d wandered over to Eddie’s closet, presumably having lost interest in the TV stand for the moment.

Richie tossed an old peacoat into the donations bag and then dug a rainbow baseball cap from the back of the closet. He immediately stuck it on his head and asked delightedly, “Who bought you this?”

Eddie sighed. “Joshua. As an apology for accidentally outing me at work.”

Richie checked himself out in the mirror. “Can I have it?”

“Please.”

He took a selfie, tongue out and throwing a peace sign. “I think I’m gonna come out.”

“To who?” Eddie asked as he replied to Stan’s text asking how long he was planning to make Richie do chores for him under the pretext of not aggravating his stitches.

“The world. Twitter.” Richie shrugged. “You know—come _out_ out.”

It took a moment for that to set in, and when it did, Eddie set his phone down. “Yeah?”

Over the past few days, in between packing Eddie’s stuff, ordering takeout to sustain them since he couldn’t cook, and sidestepping Kiki’s pointed questions over text, Richie had called his parents, as well as Steve, and told them he was gay. 

It had gone pretty well, from what Eddie could tell. Richie had been on the phone with his parents for two hours actually, and about five minutes had been dedicated to the whole ‘coming out’ thing. The rest was catching up on life (Eddie had come up a few times) because Richie hadn’t bothered calling them in months.

Richie seemed incredibly relieved about the process, so maybe it shouldn’t have been a surprise that his next step would be coming out publicly, but it was a _big_ step.

He nodded, fiddling with the rainbow hat on his head. “Yeah, what do I have to be afraid of anymore? Right?”

From the couch, Eddie opened his arms. “Yeah, absolutely.”

Richie happily trotted over to him and tucked himself against Eddie’s good side, welcoming the assurance he was seeking in the first place. “Right? I’ve been thinking about it and—you know how I only came out to Steve because of the Netflix thing?”

“Yeah.”

Steve had already been talking about releasing the promised Netflix special using a recording of Richie’s LA tour performance. But then Richie would’ve had to do promo for it, with all of its straight jokes written by other people, so he’d squashed that the best he could.

“I mean, it’s what Kiki’s been saying this whole time. I need to write my own material. But I don’t know how I’m supposed to share that if everybody thinks I’m straight.” Richie sat up, looking at Eddie. “And what’s the worst that can happen? Republicans? Twitter trolls? If a homophobic clown from space isn’t gonna kill me, then what am I scared of?”

“That’s true,” Eddie said, incredibly proud of the man in front of him. “I think that’s a really good idea, Rich. Whenever you’re ready.”

Richie kissed his cheek before resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder, apparently settling in for a longer break from packing. This was the main reason it was taking a week to empty a studio apartment; they kept distracting each other with things they’d rather be doing.

“Have you been writing?” Eddie curiously.

He tapped his temple. “It’s all up here so far, but I’ve got a bit going about the time a one night stand slid into my DMs and then my heart—”

Eddie laughed, flicking Richie’s hat off to kiss his forehead. “Sap.”

On his last day in New York, Eddie stopped by the office to pick up his things—vitamins, water bottles, a few spare button-ups. Nothing he couldn’t live without, but he figured he’d do everyone the courtesy of clearing out his office.

After wrapping things up on his computer, he headed back through the open office area with a box of his things. Luckily it wasn’t very heavy; Eddie was hyperaware that any stray twist of his torso might tear out his stitches, though it was feeling less precarious by the day. Richie had offered to grab his stuff with him, but Eddie didn’t need the last thing that the office remembered him for to be showing up unannounced with Richie Tozier.

Harriet was rifling through the empty reception desk, probably scrounging up some sticky notes. 

She looked up at Eddie sourly as he passed. “You need your office vitamins for your vacation?” 

“I’m quitting,” Eddie announced.

Harriett blinked at him. “Like—like you’re giving your two weeks?”

“Nope. You’ll never see me again.” Eddie set his box on the reception desk and pulled his resignation letter from it. He’d just printed it off in his office. “Is Kenneth around?”

She picked her jaw up off the floor to say, “He’s on a long lunch.”

“Of course.” He held out his letter to her. “Can you give this to him?”

That finally snapped her out of her apparent shock. She yanked the letter from him and slammed it on the counter. “I am _not—”_ She took a breath and restarted in a more measured tone. “Actually, I’m not your receptionist. And since you no longer work here, after taking an incredibly inconvenient vacation…”

She kept going, in her professionally aggravated way, and it hit him all at once that he was going to miss her.

“Can I ask,” she said after a minute, “just what the fuck you’re smiling at?”

Eddie laughed. “Harriett, I’ve thought otherwise for a long time, and I’ve probably said the opposite to your face, but I’ve greatly enjoyed working with you.” He stuck out his hand. “Thank you for never sending me to HR.”

She shook his hand, eyes narrowed the tiniest fraction. “The long-distance beaux?”

Eddie laughed again, ducking his head. “Yeah. I’m moving in with him.”

Every time he said it, excitement sprouted fresh inside him. This time tomorrow he’d be on a plane heading toward the rest of his life.

“Where?” Harriet asked.

“LA.”

“You’ll hate it,” she said casually.

He shrugged. “I hate it here.”

“You don’t want to transfer to our sister branch?”

“I want something new,” he said. “And my uh—boyfriend is kind of loaded, might just mooch off him for a while.”

Harriet tilted her head, looking him over a moment before saying, “Well, I can’t say you don’t deserve it.”

“To mooch?”

“To fucking relax.”

Eddie smiled, picking up his box. “Hey, you should get in touch with the OM and make him give you the official manager position. You deserve it more than—”

She blocked his way as he tried to head for the door. “Before you disappear forever, you’re sending me all your client information and—”

“I already sent their files to you in the shared drive.”

“Oh.” She dropped her hand. “Good.”

From the center of the office, Joshua’s feet jerked off his desk. “Holy shit. Trashmouth just came out on Twitter.”

Eddie bit his lip as he started heading out.

“Came out?” Harriet repeated. “Of what?”

“The closet!” Joshua’s eyes bulged. “He’s gay, he’s got a boyfriend—he said he loves sucking cock, holy fucking shit!”

Harriet scrambled for her phone. “Was he hacked—Eddie?”

She looked up from her phone just in time to see Eddie at the door. She pointed her phone at him, opened her mouth and then snapped it shut. 

She raised her brows at him instead.

Eddie winked at her. “You ever visit LA, gimme a call.”

She shook her head with a disbelieving little laugh. “Have a nice life, Kaspbrak.”

“I think I will!” 

He gave one last wave, and then he pulled up Twitter.

Richie Tozier @trashmouthtozier: _Richie Tozier Comes Out *Not Clickbait!!!* That’s right folks #confirmed iimp'_

_Shit ah fuck I didn’t mean to post it like that_

_Can you edit a tweet?_

_No? This isn’t a real website_

_Whatever I’m gay thanks for coming to my Ted Talk_ 🏳‍🌈🏳‍🌈🏳‍🌈 _Kind comments only please, I’m already shaking in my rainbow crocs_

Replies:

@summermooning: _was this bitch hacked???_

@trashmouth4evr: _whos ted is he ur bf_

@hankconchler23: _Yeah and ?? Still waiting for my money back on the show you cancelled !!_

@duderino: _aha yeah right you just can’t get any pu$$y, dick pillssss!!!_

Richie Tozier @trashmouthtozier: _@duderino that's true, but I do get incredible amounts of dick from my amazing boyfriend who I love!!_ 🍆💞💖💓💕🥰

Replies:

@toziertosser: _wait is this fr?_

@sophie3815343: 🏳‍🌈🌈😍😘👍💜

@makeuptits: _Sounds fake but okay_

@duncandonuts: _Is that why you needed pills to get it up roflmao_

@gay4trash: 👀 _pics or it didn’t happen_

Richie Tozier @trashmouthtozier: _@gay4trash As much as I would love to share a pic of me sucking a big one, I don’t think my boyfriend, whom I love with all my heart, would approve of me getting banned from Twitter for his indecent exposure_ 🍆👅

Replies:

@gayrey: _idc if he’s gay, trashmouth coming out is a fucking hate crime_ 😣

@zippitydoobitch: _what the fukc im crying what is HAPEPNING right now???_

@alienfucker69: _LMAOOO_ 😂🤣 _bruh if this is real I’m NEVER gonna stop laughing_

Richie Tozier @trashmouthtozier: _@alienfucker69 I think you’ll need to pay me for that. Legally speaking, since I’m a professional comedian. That’s what royalties are, right?_

Replies:

@homoliving: _why this guy dumb as a brick and imma bout to split it open for him_

@sc00trboi: _Congratulations on living your truth!!!_ 💖🧡💛💚💙💜

@dudleydodont: _in what world is richie tozier a homo_

@homoliving: _@dudleydodont bitch_ 👏 _can you not read?_ 👏 _it’s this world, the one where I ride his dick into the sunset!_

Richie Tozier @trashmouthtozier: _@homoliving while I appreciate the support, I get all the dick I need from my wonderful boyfriend_ 🍆👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨

don’t talk to me @ekasspbrak89: _@trashmouthtozier IF YOU TWEET ONE MORE FUCKING EGGPLANT EMOJI I SWEAR TO GOD_

Richie Tozier @trashmouthtozier: _Looks like I g2g folks! Hugs and kisses to all the_ 🏳‍🌈🌈🦄 _folks and a big_ 👎🤬 _to anyone who calls me things bullies called me in middle school!!_

Beverly Marsh @bevmarshdesigns: _Proud and exasperated with @trashmouthtozier all at the same time! I think this is what being a mom feels like. Love you, Richie!!!_ 💋🥰

Bill Denbrough @billdenbrough2: _Sending love and support to @trashmouthtozier He deserves all the happiness in the world, even if he’s a bigger idiot than me sometimes._

Richie Tozier @trashmouthtozier: _@bevmarshdesigns Love you more, Mommy Marsh!! (that’s a new one, do you like it?_ 🤪)

Richie Tozier @trashmouthtozier: _@billdenbrough2 Don’t try to take my idiot crown, Big Bill_ 👑💪 _I’m ALWAYS a bigger idiot than you_

Replies:

@zippitydoobitch: _wait who tf is @ekasspbrak89 and why do they care about eggplants_

@makeuptits: _Seriously someone explain to me what the fuck is happening rn. Are we in the twilight zone???_

@gayrey: _holy shit is tozier friends w/ THE beverly marsh?? @trashmouthtozier i take it back, welcome to the fam can you put in a good word for me with @bevmarshdesigns? I can be her rebound gf!!_ 👭

@zippitydoobitch: _wait WHAT the kasspbrak guy blocked me!! what did i do?_

don’t talk to me @ekasspbrak89: _This is ridiculous, everybody stop following me, my name is literally ‘don’t talk to me’!!!_

Richie Tozier @trashmouthtozier: _@ekasspbrak89 babe just lock your account_

don’t talk to me @ekasspbrak89: _@trashmouthtozier What the FUCK does that mean?_

Richie Tozier @trashmouthtozier: _@ekasspbrak89 I’ll help you when you get home_

don’t talk to me @ekasspbrak89: _@trashmouthtozier Fine. Thank you. Now get off Twitter!!_

Richie Tozier @trashmouthtozier: _@ekasspbrak89_ 😘 _back atcha, honeybunch!_

don’t talk to me @ekasspbrak89: _@trashmouthtozier_ 🙄 .... 😘

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Twitter handles were made up by me, if they exist for real, it's unintentional. Also, yeah, I've been reading too many smaus, how could you tell?  
> Anyway, thank you all so much for reading, this has been such a wild ride, and I appreciate all of the feedback and support from you guys the whole way!  
> Final chapter "Epilogue: LA" will be up later this week, and it's literally aaaall fluff.  
> Lemme know how you liked it!


	21. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so eight thousand words later, here’s an epilogue… The timeline is vague because I don’t know how long Eddie's recovery would take, so just pretend an appropriate amount of time passes.  
> Also I know I said it was all fluff, but then I added some stuff about therapy/nightmares/brief mention of Stan’s attempted suicide attempt, so just FYI for that.  
> It is still largely fluff. Please enjoy!

**_Epilogue - LA_ **

Eddie had never been to LA before. He’d written it off as vapid and too-hot, which he’d yet to be proven wrong on, but he still liked it better than New York. 

Here, he and Richie finally got the chance for normalcy, and to decide what that meant to them—between who they were as kids, what they’d been to each other before Derry, and who they wanted to be now. All their experiences got shuffled together like a deck of cards, and they had final say on how it’d look.

One of the staples of their routine was making out whenever they wanted, wherever they wanted—within reason. As soon as Eddie’s stitches healed up, he’d be fucking Richie in his giant shower, but for now most of their activities were PG-13 and relegated to the bed or the couch. Possibly the kitchen counter, but Richie was obsessed with being careful _,_ gentle, so scared to jostle Eddie’s stitches. 

And maybe Eddie hadn’t truly appreciated that care—had maybe been a bit annoyed to be babied—until a week after they’d moved in when they were making out on the couch and the penthouse door swung open unannounced. It startled Richie into half-kneeing Eddie and bumping him off his lap onto the coffee table.

“Mother fucker,” Eddie hissed, cradling his side as pain sparked.

“Shit, sorry, sorry!”

It hadn’t hurt this bad since their plane took off in New York, shaking them around like coins in a can, but Eddie waved Richie off. He was already glaring at the interruption—Kiki Garcia breezing through the living room carrying a tray with two coffees and a frappuccino.

“Eddie, welcome to LA.” She handed him a coffee.

“Do you have a key?” Eddie asked incredulously.

“Yeah?” she said, as if there would be no way to manage Richie without a key to his house.

Richie reached out tentatively toward Eddie, forehead still creased in concern. “Babe—”

“I’m fine.” He was well intact, and the pain was easily replaced by irritation. “Quit giving people who work for you keys to your rooms.”

Kiki lifted a pierced brow. “Richie hasn’t answered any of my texts since he’s got back to LA, so I wanted to make sure he was alive.”

Richie finally looked away from Eddie to smile at her only slightly apologetically. He lifted a shoulder. “I’ve been busy?”

 _“Busy,_ he says—” She gave a hard roll of her eyes as she set the drink tray down.

“I thought you were on vacation or something,” Eddie complained, now firmly on Kiki’s side. “You have to respond to work texts, Richie.”

She pinched her fingers together. “You don’t get to run out in the middle of a tour, come out on Twitter without telling your staff, and then go straight into a vacation.”

“I’m—I mean—you told me to come out!”

“And I’m proud of you and I love you for it, but there’s, like, decisions to be made now.” She shoved the frappuccino into Richie’s hand. “There wasn’t any clause in the dick pills contract about coming out while being the face of their ad campaign, but we’re still doing damage control—”

Richie’s brows rose. “I hadn’t thought about that—”

Kiki lifted her brows in turn, markedly more sarcastic. “And did you think about how coming out changes the entirety of your career trajectory, and how you should really return your managers’ calls asking how the fuck you wanna respond to journalists asking you to explain all your stupid pussy jokes from the past ten years?”

“Um.” Richie said, looking up as though considering the question. “Would you believe that’s also a no?”

“That’s why I’m here, to think for you.” She sunk onto the loveseat and pulled an iPad from her bag. “I just need two hours of your time to figure out what you wanna do with your life, and then you can go back to sucking face with your boyfriend like a teenager.” She looked at Eddie and tossed out, “Congrats, by the way.”

Eddie sniffed at the coffee suspiciously before taking a sip. It had a shot of caramel in it. He didn’t hate it. “Please text me next time Richie doesn’t answer you.”

“Will do. You said it was weird last time,” she offered as an explanation.

“Showing up unannounced to my home is weirder.” He rose, pausing briefly to kiss Richie on the forehead. “You two have fun.”

“You can stay,” Richie protested.

But Kiki was definitely about to start talking about Richie’s “brand” and “image” and Eddie wouldn’t even be getting paid to listen to that this time around.

“Don’t want to!” Eddie replied cheerfully. As he walked away, he said, “I’m gonna get into Bill’s crime noir book. It’s got the worst reviews yet.”

“Oh, we can start with that if you want,” he heard Kiki say. “You know Bill Denbrough! And Beverly Marsh! Since fucking _when?”_

Richie’s apartment was boring. 

Like, definitely the look of it—the sleek, modern show-home style that Richie had apparently hired a professional to decorate, was classy but charmless. Just a more expensive version of Eddie’s bachelor pad, really. Of course, the uninspired design wouldn’t have been an issue if Eddie’s daily activities weren’t narrowed to mostly watching HGTV and making his way through Bill’s backlog of books when Richie wasn’t available to entertain him.

And sure, several doctors had literally ordered him to bedrest, but it wasn’t like he was planning to go for a jog. He just wanted to do the dishes or something, and he couldn’t even do that, even though he’d have a bit of pain either way.

As proven in the middle of the night a few weeks into living there, when he woke up with a tightness in his side that he couldn’t fall back to sleep with.

Reluctantly rolling out of Richie’s embrace, he shuffled to the kitchen for water and a painkiller. He’d, foolishly, had his New York doctor send his transcripts to his new LA doctor, who kept harping on the dangers of pill addiction, which was stupid because Eddie wasn’t addicted, he just had a lot of prescriptions in case of emergency. (Which was a different kind of problem for a different kind of doctor, according to Stan).

He leaned against the kitchen counter, moonlight streaming through the windows as he sipped his water.

Stan had brought up therapy for the dozenth time a few days ago, when Richie was out at a meeting with his team. Richie _was_ finally on an unofficial break from work, but there’d still been a handful of discussions figuring out how Richie wanted everything handled.

Before he left, Eddie had been trying to sweep up a bit but, like, every other time he dared do an activity that didn’t involve sitting on the couch, Richie rushed over to do it for him. And maybe Richie was right, that he shouldn’t be straining himself. But maybe Eddie could handle holding a broom for five minutes. 

“Like am I being unreasonable?” Eddie had asked Stan over Skype.

“Yeah, actually,” Stan said, half-listening to him while he did a puzzle.

“That was rhetorical, because I’m not,” he snapped. “I just wanna be able to clean a damn window in my own home.”

Stan looked at him. “Thought you weren’t supposed to lift your arms too high?” 

“It’s the principal of the thing—”

“And doesn’t he have a maid?”

“I don’t need to be coddled, is my fucking point,” he cut in. He and Richie had a few almost-conversations—almost-fights about it, during which Eddie kept his voice level and Richie tried not to resemble a kicked puppy.

“Have you guys talked about what happened?” Stan asked. “In the sewers? Where he got caught in the deadlights, and you saved him, and then he saved you, and you almost died anyway?”

Eddie grimaced, adjusting the pillow behind his back before grumbling, “Shockingly, that’s not a topic we’re quick to discuss.”

“So he hasn’t told you how hard he screamed when he found you passed out?” he asked blandly. “How he was fucking inconsolable until Patty thought to check your pulse, and how Bev had to pull him away from your body so Ben and Mike could pick you up, because he was crying too hard to do anything for you?”

He dropped his gaze, a lump growing in his throat. “No.”

“Look.” Stan lowered his voice, throwing a look over his shoulder before leaning closer to the screen. “Patty found me in the bathroom, Eddie. I did that to her, and things are different now. For you it wasn’t your fault—”

“It wasn’t your fault either, Stan—” Eddie was quick to correct him.

“But he still saw that,” he talked over him. “And he loves you.”

He swallowed hard. “So you’re saying he’s right.”

“I’m saying—and I’ve told you this before, so I won’t coddle you—” He cupped his hands around his mouth to say, “You both need therapy!”

But it would get easier on its own, Eddie was sure, when Richie wouldn’t have to help him shower, or get dressed sometimes. The problem would resolve itself, once his wound healed and the doctors okayed him, because there wouldn’t be the question of whether Eddie _should_ be self-sufficient or not. And Eddie wouldn’t second-guess moving in with Richie in the first place, wondering if that gave Richie too much control in the relationship, because that was fucking stupid, and Eddie didn’t believe that. But the thought was still there. For now.

His late-night contemplation was interrupted by Richie screaming Eddie’s name.

“Rich?” Eddie replied, heart jumping to his throat. He smacked his glass onto the counter and hobbled back to their bedroom as fast as he could. “Richie?”

Richie just kept crying his name, until Eddie lurched into the doorway with a sharp wince. Richie was sitting up in bed, chest heaving as tears streaked down his cheeks.

“Eddie,” he wheezed like he couldn’t get air when he saw him. “Eddie, please, oh god—”

“What’s wrong?” Eddie raced to the bed, hand going to his side absently as he moved.

“Oh my god—” Richie flung himself across the mattress, kneeling in front of Eddie where he stood. “Fuck, you died, you died, Eddie—”

Eddie’s stomach sunk to his feet. Richie yanked up Eddie’s shirt to look at his side; not bleeding, stitches intact, infection-free and healing exactly as the doctors expected.

Richie would look at it sometimes, in the shower or at a checkup, gaze caught in the stitches as if the second he looked away it would revert back to bleeding into Richie’s jacket. Eddie avoided looking at it for similar reasons.

Richie buried his face in his hands, heaving sobs into his palms. “You—you fucking—I’m so sorry, oh my god—” 

“Richie.” It was barely above a whisper. He sat next to him, tugging at his wrists so he’d look at him. “I’m here, I’m okay.”

Richie nodded slowly, breath hitching, and then dropped his face into the crook of Eddie’s shoulder. His shirt soaked up his tears.

He weaved his fingers through Richie’s hair, closing his eyes. “We’re okay, everything’s okay.”

And they were okay. But maybe Stan was right after all, because they sure wouldn’t be getting any _better_ pulling the same shit and acting like nothing had changed.

He laid his cheek against the top of Richie’s head. “It’ll be okay.”

Eddie didn’t wait any longer than the next afternoon to do something about it.

He was typing away on his new laptop at the desk in the living room that Richie never used, and Richie set a freshly made sandwich next to his mouse. 

Richie gave the top of his head a kiss. “Whatcha working on?”

“Researching therapists,” he said casually, bookmarking another website to his new ‘Therapy - Options’ folder.

“Oh. Like—the brain kind?”

He looked up at him. “What other kinds are there?”

He shrugged, wide shoulders stretching under a thin T-shirt that had a hole right under his nipple. “Physiotherapy, massage therapy. Something with crystals?”

“We’re both going to therapy,” Eddie said flatly. “The brain kind.”

His brows rose the tiniest bit. “Oh?”

“Separately,” he tacked on. “Different therapists too, probably, since we have different problems.”

“What uh—” He hid a lip twitch behind his coffee mug. “What problems do I have, Eddie?”

“I don’t know, I’m not a therapist.” He shrugged, turning back to his screen. “I’ll send you some links to offices I think might work for you and you can pick, but I can handle everything—the preliminary calls, setting up the appointments, all that stuff.”

“Oh, you’re like, serious.”

Eddie looked up at him again. Richie’s brows had drawn together, and his eyes were still a little puffy from last night.

“Stan said it would be a good idea.”

“Hasn’t he been saying that for a while?” he asked, a little defensive.

“It’s not about last night,” Eddie said. When Richie scoffed, Eddie added, “I mean it is, but it’s not _just_ that. And you don’t—I’m not gonna make you, but I think we should try at least one appointment, just to see how we like it, right? Because like—” He sighed. “Honestly? I probably should’ve done this fucking years ago. And since I’ve never had a functional relationship, and I would like this one to be, I think it would be healthy for us to process our issues—”

“Eddie,” Richie said, the way he did when he knew Eddie would never stop talking if something didn’t interrupt him.

Eddie grabbed a bite of the sandwich Richie made and and garbled at him, “I’d just appreciate if you did this with me.”

Richie blinked once, and then nodded. “Um… alright. Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

He shrugged, and this time his nipple poked right through the hole. “This is the same way Kiki got me into rehab, so maybe I really do need therapy, since I repeatedly refuse any kind of self-improvement unless somebody else does all the work to get me there.”

Eddie frowned, motioning him to bend over so he could kiss him. “I’m happy to do this, Rich,” he murmured against his lips. “I wanna take care of you the way you’re taking care of me.”

“You hate that I’m taking care of you,” he teased.

“But I love you,” he retorted, giving him one more kiss. “And I love this sandwich, so thank you.”

“Anytime, babe.” And then he left Eddie to scour Yelp for reviews on therapists.

Bev moved to New York.

“As soon as I leave?” Eddie teased over a video call the night after the big move. “Really?”

“It’s the fashion capital of the world!” Bev giggled, wine glass swirling in her hand. Moving boxes stacked up behind her on the screen in her spacious one-bedroom apartment on the Upper West Side.

“Isn’t that Paris?” Richie said from next to Eddie on the couch.

“Or London?” Eddie said.

She tilted her head back against her couch, tipsy and happy and freshly, officially divorced. “I’ve always wanted to live here.”

“You want garlic dip with the pizza, Bev?” Ben called from Bev’s kitchen. 

Ben had taken a sabbatical to help Bev “settle in” because they’d “missed each other” even though they’d reportedly talked on the phone “as friends” every day since Derry.

“Yes!” Bev replied to Ben. “More wine, too!”

“You got it!”

Bev’s lips curled into a smile, and she leaned toward the computer to whisper, “I’m gonna kiss him tonight, shh, it’s a secret.” She put a finger to her lips and winked. “Think he’ll still like me with garlic breath?”

“Absolutely not,” Richie said as Eddie replied, “Only if there’s olives on the pizza, too.”

She nodded sagely, and grinned huge when Ben appeared onscreen to deliver the wine and pizza. She opened her arms and he settled into them with a blush as she nuzzled into his broad shoulder.

“Hey guys,” Ben greeted. “How’s it going?”

“Great!” Richie said. “Did you know therapists get paid just to read you to filth?”

“I don’t know what that means,” Ben said over Bev’s guffaw of laughter.

“Ten minutes into the appointment she was like—” Richie adjusted his glasses, straightening his posture before he on a dumb accent, “‘It’s interesting you picked a career in comedy when your sense of self-worth is directly tied to your capacity to make people laugh, and then chose to tell jokes you didn’t write. Why do you think you did that?’” Richie made a face, slouching back into the couch. “Like fuck lady, I roasted a clown to death two months ago, you trying to kill me now, too?”

Bev and Ben were howling, but Eddie, having heard this bit five times already, shook his head. “Have you thought of any other ending yet? The rest of it’s good, but you can’t use the clown thing.”

“What?” Ben asked, still laughing.

Eddie waved a hand. “He’s gonna be trying out bits for his new routine this whole call. Tell him he can’t keep the clown stuff.”

“I can make it work,” Richie argued for the fifth time.

Eddie crossed his arms. “It’s gonna be funny for seven people in the whole world, and everybody else is gonna want to interview your therapist.”

He whipped out his phone. “I’m writing that one down.”

Bev laughed again. “Rich, I thought you’re writing your own stuff now. Your whole act can’t just be shit other people say to you.”

He lifted a finger. “Au contraire, Beverly. It’s called observational humour and it’s gonna be a hit!”

“Most of it is actually his own jokes,” Eddie told her. “And they’re mostly good.”

Richie grinned at him and kissed his cheek. 

“Is your therapist as insightful as Richie’s, Eddie?” Ben asked, dipping his crust into Bev’s dip. “If that’s something you wanna talk about.”

“Oh, I emailed her a Powerpoint to prep her before our first session, so that uh—gave her a lot to work with,” Eddie finished, falling into laughter along with the rest of them. 

He just hadn’t wanted to waste time explaining everything he already knew was wrong with him. The first thing his therapist had told him was that he was very eloquent, which started them off on the right foot. He’d already scheduled a month’s worth of regular appointments with her, and he’d see how he was feeling after that.

“Happy for you,” Ben said before his attention got grabbed by something off-screen. “Is that a cat pawing on your window from the fire escape?”

Bev set her pizza down to lean over his lap, squinting across the room. “Oh my god, it is. Should we let it in?”

“No!” Eddie said incredulously.

At the same time, Richie said, “Yes, what’s it look like?” 

“Super cute,” Ben said.

“Like a grizzled soldier,” Bev replied. She giggled again, sitting back up. “But yeah, it’s cute. Maybe it wants pizza.”

Eddie buried his head in his hands. “Do not feed an alley cat pizza, Bev.”

“Hey.” Richie popped his brows at him. “Speaking of—”

“We’re not having a dog in the apartment,” Eddie cut him off. 

Living together and being around each other near-constantly meant they had several ongoing arguments they dropped and picked up again whenever they got bored. Like whether the peanut butter should be stored in the fridge or the cupboard, and Eddie’s ongoing quest to throw out all of Richie’s clothes that had holes, rips, or stains on them.

“Oh, a little one would be fine,” Bev assured him, with no proof to back up her claim.

“So Richie can accidentally step on it every day? No thanks.”

“So what I’m hearing is you want a _big_ dog,” Richie said.

“I want to see you keep track of a pet rock for a week before you talk to me about adopting an animal.”

Ben’s gaze snapped off-screen again. “Oh gosh, the cat’s got a friend! Bev—”

She was already standing. “Yeah, I’m gonna give them some pizza.”

“Beverly Marsh!” Eddie exclaimed over Richie’s chant of, “Pics! Pics! Pics!”

They fucked for the first time since the move as soon as Eddie’s doctor gave him the okay for ‘moderate physical activity’.

Richie had taken up stretching leading up to the event, specifically so he’d have the endurance to ride Eddie without cramping up.

They’d actually had a long talk about what position they should go for, because Richie was still a bit nervous about hurting Eddie somehow, and their respective therapists were big on open communication—which they were already shockingly good at, except for when their feelings had the potential to hurt the other or make them uncomfortable, which was an insight from Eddie’s therapist. 

(They had a bit of a competition going to see whose therapist dropped the most truth bombs. When Eddie had explained the concept to Stan, his only response was a long blink and an ‘Alright’.)

Anyway, they’d come to the decision that Richie riding him would be the least strenuous for Eddie, which Eddie had no complaints about.

He reserved his complaints for the fucking sex playlist.

 _“I hear you call my name,”_ Madonna crooned through the speakers as Richie hitched a leg over Eddie’s hip. _“And it feels like home.”_

“You gotta be fucking kidding me, dude,” Eddie complained as the song kicked off.

“What?” Richie rocked gently, Eddie’s erection gliding between his lubed cheeks. “What are you always hoping I’ll play for mood music, huh? Barry Manilow? Marvin Gaye?”

“Shut up, shut the fuck up,” Eddie groaned, nails digging into his hairy thighs. “Richie, please—”

“I got you.” He set his palms on his chest as he took him inside. “Just lay back, relax, and enjoy the—” His head dropped back, voice dipping. “Oh, _fuck._ Fuck me, that’s good.”

Eddie couldn’t take his eyes off him; swollen lips parted, sweat glistening on his skin, looking like an absolute dream. He dragged a loose fist up Richie’s cock to encourage him. “You said I could relax. Fuck yourself.”

He gasped a laugh, eyes fluttering shut as he leisurely grinded on Eddie’s lap. “You know I love you? Like I really… feels like I’m breathing love instead of air thinking about you sometimes.”

His heart swelled, overwhelmed by tender feelings while Richie’s ass gripped his dick. “Fuck, Rich.” He leaned down to kiss him, and Eddie cupped his jaw. “I love you so much.”

Richie whined, hips jerking suddenly. “Shit, say that again.”

Eddie buried his fingers in his hair and whispered in his ear, “I love you, Richie. You know how much I love you.”

He moaned openly, nodding against his shoulder. He sat up, eyes already shining as he started bouncing on Eddie’s cock with abandon. “Again, baby, please.”

Eddie groaned, breath punched out of him. “I love you. I love you, I love you so much—”

After that, it become clear that for Richie—praise kink, love kink? Same thing.

“I think we might buy a house,” Eddie told Mike while out on a brisk walk-slash-light jog.

“Really?” 

Mike was on a solo road trip through the country, sending selfies of himself to the losers group chat at every weird curio shop and shitty roadside museum he passed. He was also staying at cheap motels without wifi, so Facetime was usually out of the question. 

Now that Eddie was allowed some form of exercise, he liked to call Mike for company on walks.

Eddie adjusted his earbud as he crossed the street. “Yeah. I watched, like, a lot of Property Brothers while I was recovering. And played a lot of _Sims_. I want a reno project.”

Mike had visited Stan and Patty last month and helped them refinish their cupboards, and it made Eddie remember the one singular time he’d been allowed to do a home improvement project; putting up a press-on backsplash in his and Myra’s kitchen. He was ready for something bigger.

“A house to flip or live in?” Mike asked.

“Live in. I miss having a house. I used to garden, a little. I’d do it more.” Now that the person Eddie lived with wouldn’t have a heart attack if he came inside with dirt under his nails. “And I liked mowing the grass, you know? Cleaning the gutters. I could build a porch and we could have a barbecue—”

Mike laughed. “Okay, I get it. You’ve got plans.”

Eddie picked up from a walk to a light job, continuing, “I just—I don’t have a job right now, and the only thing I have experience in is the one thing I don’t wanna do. But I’d enjoy doing this. Making a home for me and Richie.”

They’d been talking about it in the abstract, the pros and cons of leasing an apartment versus owning a house. 

“Oh, if you don’t like this place we can move anytime,” Richie had immediately said. “I’m not attached, and the building doesn’t allow dogs.”

“We’re not getting a dog,” Eddie insisted, but he had pulled up real estate listings—just to browse.

And Richie had pulled up animal shelter listings—just to browse.

Eddie added with an eye roll to Mike, “Also we might get a dog. That’s TBD.”

“But you’re set on the house?”

Eddie tilted his head. He’d already reached out to some realtors. “I think so.”

“Wow,” Mike said. “Big step, isn’t it?”

“Not as big as moving across the country to be with him,” Eddie reasoned. “Or saving each other from a killer space clown.”

He jogged around a gaggle of mothers with strollers, but didn’t worry if they’d overheard; this was LA, they’d almost certainly heard weirder shit from strangers.

Buying a house didn’t feel like that big of a leap, it just felt right. Creating a home with each other, putting it together with their own two hands (and whatever professional help they may end up needing). The more Eddie thought about it, the more he couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it.

Mike was quiet for a bit after that, a common enough occurrence. Eddie let the moment breathe, happy enough to have Mike’s continued company as his own breathing picked up while he ran.

After another block Eddie slowed again and asked, “You been thinking about where you’ll settle down after the wanderlust wears off?”

“Oh. Yeah,” he said, like that had been exactly where he’d drifted during his silence.

When he didn’t go on, Eddie prompted, “Any contenders?”

“West Coast, maybe.” Before Eddie could ask if he _really_ wanted to set up so close to Richie, Mike added. “I’ll see how I like it when I’m out there. Bill invited me to visit. With him and Audra.”

“Oh,” Eddie said, maybe too loud. 

Richie had told him about the forehead touch Mike and Bill shared in the sewers; before they’d left Derry, Richie had raised his brows at Eddie every time the two of them so much as looked at each other.

And Eddie didn’t like to speculate, but it was hard not to pick up a certain vibe between them. Sure, they’d always been close friends—but so had Eddie and Richie.

In the end, he’d been a little surprised that Bill had ended up heading back to his wife who didn’t know anything, and had no intention of filling in, after everything they’d experienced. And even more surprised that Bill continued to be married to her, months later. 

Every time Eddie talked to Bill, he half-expected him to ask how divorces worked, but it was always just, _Yeah, Audra’s good! :)_

The guileless smiley was implied even in verbal conversations.

And then he’d normally start talking about Mike.

“Eddie,” said Mike, who, in turn, brought Bill up in every conversation. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything, Mikey.”

Mike didn’t reply immediately. Eddie paused under the shade of a tree to take a drink of water.

“Do you um… do you believe in fate?” he finally said. “Like, do you think everything ended up how it was supposed to?”

Eddie capped his water bottle, squinting at the sun rising over the city. “‘Ended up’ is past tense. We’re still deciding how things will end up, aren’t we?”

“Hm. Yeah.”

Eddie chewed his lip, wracking his brain to figure out how to show support without getting annoyingly obvious about how he knew exactly what was going on, unlike _some_ of their friends.

“You know how I said I went somewhere when I passed out in the sewers?” Eddie said. “Or something came to me, like a dream?”

“Yeah, you said you didn’t remember it that well.”

“I don’t, but I got a feeling from it. Since then, I’ve never doubted that the life you want is worth fighting for. No matter the risks, or the odds, you gotta try.” Eddie took a deep breath. “Otherwise, what’s the point of any of it? Living your life miserable, so sure you’ll be like that forever that you’re resigned to dying miserable?”

“I’m not miserable,” Mike said quietly.

“Sorry, I was projecting a bit at the end there,” Eddie laughed self-consciously. He picked up on his jog again. “But I mean it. If you want something, fucking go for it. We’ve all waited long enough for our lives to start.”

“You know what, I think you’re right.”

A few months later, no news on the Mike/Bill front, but Eddie was back to his normal morning run routine; much more jogging than walking. So when he got back to the apartment he was sweaty, but still went to his laptop before the shower, to catch up on emails with their realtor.

He opened his laptop on top of the credenza rather than get any furniture covered in his sweat. He was opening the latest email from Evelyn when Richie shuffled out of the bedroom in Looney Tunes boxers.

Richie immediately draped himself over Eddie, hands wandering up his chest as his morning wood pecked persistently at his lower back.

“Hate waking up in an empty bed,” Richie complained at his ear. “Don’t you want me to have a good morning?”

 _“I’m_ having a good morning,” Eddie replied, enjoying Richie’s weight pressing against him but still focused on his task. “Evelyn says the house we saw by the taco place you like dropped their asking price by two grand. Do you think it’s a sign?”

Richie sighed, and it fluttered through Eddie’s hair and down his neck. “I think we could make it a sign…”

“Should we make an appointment to go see it again?”

He mouthed at the sweat cooling on his pulse point. “I liked the tree out front. Would be nice for the dog.”

“We’re _not_ getting a dog.”

Richie hooked an arm around Eddie’s waist and started pumping his hips in earnest against the small of his back. “Are you sure, babe? You don’t want a cute lil puppy humping your leg whenever you come home because he’s just so _excited_ to see you—”

“I already have that, you fucking horndog,” Eddie laughed, jostled around in Richie’s embrace. He pushed his ass back against his dick, relenting. He sighed, aiming for annoyed, but landing closer to obviously hot for it. “What do you want?”

Richie kissed the back of his head and then tugged Eddie’s running shorts and underwear down in one motion. “Have you showered yet?”

“Nuh uh.”

He slipped his erection between Eddie’s ass cheeks to settle between his thighs, brushing Eddie’s balls with the head of his cock. “Can I make a mess?”

Eddie shivered at the early morning graveliness of his voice. As an answer, he clenched his thighs around Richie’s dick, rocking back against his pelvis.

“Fuck, Eds,” he hissed, grabbing his hip in a big strong hand and dragging his thick cock slow between Eddie’s thighs.

“Mm.” Eddie bit his lip to hold back a groan. “Feels good, Rich.”

He buried his face in the back of Eddie’s neck as he moved. “God, I fucking love you.”

“Love you.” Eddie opened a new tab on his laptop. “Gonna tell Evelyn to schedule that second viewing—” 

Richie smacked the laptop shut.

Which was probably for the best.

They were _this_ close to signing on the house. In preparation, Eddie had interviewed four interior designers, before deciding that nobody would understand his vision, and he’d just do it all himself with Richie and Bev’s input.

In other news, Richie was ramping up to a short comeback tour soon (“Gotta keep the coffers full for my sugar baby!” “Call me that again and you won’t be getting any sugar—shut _up!”)._ Bev and Ben had adopted the fucking street cats, and Ben had officially relocated to New York. Stan and Patty were finally going on that Buenos Aires trip.

And Mike had been “visiting” with Bill and Audra going on four weeks, which was verging on too long considering that whenever Richie or Eddie asked how long he’d be staying, Bill’s response was “As long as he wants!” and Mike’s was “As long as he’ll have me!”

But that was none of Eddie’s business.

So he was sleeping soundly, until Richie’s phone rang in the middle of the night, waking up Eddie but not Richie.

He elbowed Richie in the ribs to rouse him in hopes he could fall right back asleep.

Eddie needed to wake up at 6AM to get the prospective house for a final inspection before they signed. He didn’t need to be there, technically, but he wanted to make sure the house inspector looked at all the right things. The second inspector they’d hired hadn’t pointed out the wiring they’d have to fix in the laundry room. Not a deal breaker, but Eddie didn’t want any surprises. All the home reno shows he’d seen were giving him nightmares about finding cracks in the foundation and the clown crawling out with a thousand-dollar bill.

At least it was a nightmare he could finally relay to his therapist in full.

Richie grumbled and smacked around his bedside table until the ringing stopped. 

“It was a phone call, not an alarm,” Eddie mumbled, curling up along the line of Richie’s solid back in the dark, eyes still closed.

Possibly still sleeping, Richie just hummed in response and squeezed Eddie’s hand where it hung over his stomach. 

And then Eddie’s phone went off.

“Oh my god.” Eddie leaned over Richie, effectively pinning him to the mattress face-down; his punishment for taking Eddie’s phone away to get him to sleep instead of researching hardwood prices.

He looked at the caller ID and rolled his eyes.

Finally showing some wakefulness, Richie stuck his ass out into Eddie’s crotch.

“Horny old bastard,” Eddie grumbled, answering his phone while still lying on top of him. “What, Bill?”

“Hey, do you think I’m in love with Mike?” 

A beat of silence passed.

Richie’s chuckle vibrated under Eddie’s chest. 

“Oh, what’s that? Richie has some insight into your romantic life?” Eddie dropped the phone on Richie’s face and yanked the blanket over his head. “Be quiet, I’m sleeping.”

He heard indistinct muttering as Richie presumably let Bill talk, until Richie released a loud guffaw. “Wait, _Audra?_ Your wife? Audra told you you’re in love with Mike?”

Eddie groaned, resigning himself to a sleepless night after all. He yanked the blanket off his face. “Alright, put this dumbass on speaker.”

Just over a year had passed since Eddie had moved to LA, and he and Richie were hosting a housewarming party in their newly renovated home. It ended up being a losers-only event, which made the most sense. Richie’s parents couldn’t make it out for another month, and Eddie had made a few LA friends, but not well enough that he wanted them in his house. 

They’d invited Kiki. She’d stopped by the day before instead, claiming that Richie and Eddie’s behaviour on Skype calls with their friends was enough to convince her that she did not want to be around all of them in person. 

Her housewarming gift was a pride flag, which made them both tear up a bit.

“Every respectable gay household has a rainbow,” she’d said, looking around at the exuberant paint colours on the walls already. “Sorry if it doesn’t go with your colour scheme.”

Eddie had cleared his throat, watching Richie wrap the flag around him like a cape with a certain amount of awe. “I—of course it does. Thank you, Kiki, that’s very thoughtful.”

It was hanging in their living room now. They’d had to take down a print from Richie’s old place to make room, but the flag suited the space better anyway.

It wasn’t a celebrity-sized house, they didn’t need that (arguably, nobody needed that). The downstairs was dedicated mostly to their sprawling living room and kitchen, as well as a shared office overlooking their respectably-sized backyard. Upstairs was their bedroom and a spare room, and a weird little nook off the stairs that Richie had so far just filled with the dick statue from his old apartment. 

They’d given the tour to everyone already, and now they were enjoying themselves, listening to a “specially curated” playlist made by Richie and edited by Eddie to remove any songs that were also on their sex playlist.

Eddie popped into the kitchen to see what was taking the drinks so long, to find Richie and Patty deep in conversation while ice cubes melted in the container next to a half-filled pitcher of mixed drink.

“…bathroom, living room, kitchen, backyard,” Richie was listing off on his fingers.

“We haven’t done any work to the backyard,” Eddie said, assuming he knew what Richie was talking about from context clues. 

“Nah, I’m telling her all the rooms we’ve christened,” he replied with a wicked grin.

He scowled at him. _“Why?”_

Patty clacked the ice cubes into the pitcher. “I asked him if these beautiful quartz countertops had seen his bare ass yet.”

“As _if_ I’d let him put his ass on these.” 

Eddie wiped a non-existent smudge off the sparkling white island with his sleeve. They looked like a fairytale against the original cabinets, refinished and painted a bright teal by Eddie and Richie. 

For a while, every time Eddie talked design with professionals, they were mystified by his colour choices unless Richie was around. Richie, with his bold personality and ever-growing collection of garishly-coloured shirts, was apparently the only explanation that made sense as to why Eddie chose the coral of the main bathroom, the bold patterned focal wall in the living room, the aubergine accents in the bedroom. Otherwise Eddie apparently didn’t seem the type to have, like, a personality. 

Richie blamed it on his collection of polos and slacks, and he was almost certainly correct. 

Hearing of his plight, Bev had sent Eddie some quote-unquote LA-appropriate gay fashion; richly coloured tops made from expensive material, left generously unbuttoned and tucked into form-fitting pants. Richie had hid his shellac hair gel and replaced it with some texturizing mousse.

His new look made it even harder to get out of the house, because Richie would jump him before they made it out the door like half the time, but people at the hardware store stopped looking so shocked when Eddie spent ten minutes debating a mint backsplash versus a silver one now. 

And Eddie had to admit, he looked nothing like the miserable, boring man he’d always feared he’d go to his grave being.

Also, Richie’s fans and haters alike were convinced, for a week straight, that Richie was cheating on his boyfriend with a model. Of course, once Richie finally responded with a selfie on Instagram with Eddie, the internet doubled down and started asking how he scored such a hot boyfriend when he always looked like he woke up in a dumpster.

That had finally spurred Eddie to make his own Instagram account, though Kiki quickly made him delete it.

Eddie rounded the island, shaking his head at Richie. “And we haven’t had sex outside, Richie, what the fuck?”

“You almost made me come in my pants when I was barbecuing last week,” Richie reminded him.

 _“Almost,”_ Eddie repeated. He’d gotten a bit handsy reaching under Richie’s apron, but to be fair, he hadn’t been aware of Richie’s exhibitionist kink, especially when there was no way for them to be seen. “And pardon me for getting a little excited finally seeing you cook—”

The oven beeped with the second round of appetizers, and Richie lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Does that mean I shouldn’t take those out? Wouldn’t want you jumping me with all our friends here.”

Eddie wrinkled his nose at him as he finished setting up the drink tray. “Maybe wait until I’m out of the room, just to be safe.”

Richie grinned, slapping his ass as he left.

Eddie headed back to the living room, Richie saying, “Hate to see you go—”

“Richie, seriously,” Patty cut in, “where are your oven mitts?”

Eddie set the drinks on the coffee table in front of Bev, Ben and Stan in the living room.

“Your wife is corrupting my Richie,” he said to Stan. “I mean—Richie, my—”

“One,” Stan lifted a finger, speaking over Bev’s effusive laughter. “They’re corrupting each other. And two—”

Eddie rushed in with, “Shut up, I was going to say my boyfriend, but then I changed my mind and was gonna just say Richie—”

“Thought you said ‘boyfriend’ was juvenile?” Stan said, poking curiously at the rubber tree plant in the corner they were desperately trying to keep alive.

“It is.” Eddie put his hands on his hips.

Bev picked up a mojito with a smirk. “But?”

“But, like, it _is_ what we are.” 

And he didn’t hate it. There was a certain charm to the implied newness; an air of youth and first dates and blushing kisses. All things they’d both obviously missed out on growing up.

On the other hand, they were fucking forty, and there was an implied fragility to the term ‘boyfriend’. But they owned a house together. Maybe more importantly, they’d been through hell together. There was nothing temporary about their situation.

“How do you feel about partner?” Ben asked.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Richie says it’s not sexy. Unless we’re pretending to be cowboys, which is exactly when I think it’s stupid.”

“Well, for what it’s worth,” Bev said, a smile curling her lips, “I think the ‘my Richie’ thing is very cute.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.”

Ben sipped his drink as he looked through the sliding glass doors showing off their backyard. Eddie had a vegetable garden going, though he was fighting the local rabbits to keep it.

“Are you really not getting a dog?” Ben asked.

From the kitchen, Richie called, “Thank you, Ben!”

“You’re fucking allergic!” Eddie retorted. 

When they’d started going to shelters “just to look”, it quickly became clear that one of the reasons why Richie’s parents never gave into him begging for a dog was because he could barely pet one without exploding into sneezes.

“Oh no,” Bev cooed, poorly hiding her laugh. “What about cats?”

Eddie shook his head sourly. “I’m not dealing with a litter box. No, I’ve started looking into hypoallergenic dog breeds and ethical ways to adopt.”

Stan, having finished his inspection of their houseplant, settled into a loveseat. “That or Richie becomes the spokesperson for Claritin next.”

Richie and Patty returned from the kitchen with the platter of appetizers, and Richie said, “There’s a joke there somewhere about allergy meds and dick pills, I’m sure of it.”

Patty tilted her head. “Something about swelling?” 

Richie laughed, and Eddie pointed a hand at her, lifting a brow at Stan. “What did I tell you?”

“Baby-love, stop corrupting this innocent forty year old man,” Stan said as she plopped herself onto his lap.

“Hey, you corrupted him first.”

Ben popped a mini quiche in his mouth. “Are Bill and Mike still in your office? They’re gonna want in on these.”

Eddie picked up the last of the drinks. “I’ll round them up.”

Down the hall in the office, Mike and Bill were huddled in front of a bookshelf composed largely of Richie’s “graphic novels”, AKA a sturdier version of comic books. Richie’s desk was was covered in superhero stickers to match.

“Some of these have gotta be for show,” Bill was saying. “Why are half the books I’ve written here?”

“Because they’re good?” Mike replied, voice warm and teasing. “And they want to support their friend?”

Bill shook his head, plucking a paperback off the shelf. “You know critics at the time called this derivative and gory just for gore’s sake—”

Mike shook his head, taking Bill’s face in his hand and slowly drawing his thumb along Bill’s jaw until he stuttered to quiet.

“Mojitos, guys?” Eddie interrupted the moment.

Mike slipped his arm around Bill’s shoulders instead, grinning at Eddie. “You’ve got quite the collection here.”

“Yup.” He handed them the drinks. “The other half of Bill’s books are on my Kindle.”

“Wait, have you really read them all?” Bill asked.

“Yeah, you know I was going through them when I was on bedrest last year. I told you I liked them.”

“I thought it was a joke.”

“I mean, I think you’d benefit from trimming some of the weird sex scenes, and your endings really piss me off, but I couldn’t put any of your books down,” Eddie said. Bill went bright red when he mentioned the sex scenes, but that didn’t stop Eddie from adding, “It’s obvious you love what you do, it’s really cool.”

“Oh, geez, th-th-th—” Bill shook his head, face still aflame, and stuck the book back on the shelf, shoving several others to the floor. “Shit.”

“You still liking your new library, Mike?” Eddie asked as Bill scooped up the books he’d dropped. Like the rest of them, they’d wasted no time moving in with each other after getting together, and Mike got a job as a research librarian at a local college.

He nodded. “It’s a welcome change of pace, lemme tell you. Hey—” He leaned toward Eddie, an excited glint in his eye. “If we started a podcast, would you listen?”

“Mikey,” Bill groaned as he stood up. “We don’t even know what it would be about—”

“It’s gonna be weird, isn’t it?” Eddie asked with a knowing sigh. “Like the most obscure bullshit you can pull out of your asses?”

They looked at each other consideringly before answering.

“Yes…?” Bill said as Mike replied, “Depends on what you consider weird?”

“I love podcasts,” Eddie assured them. “I’d definitely check it out.”

Bill grinned. “Nice.”

From the living room, Richie called, “Eh, Eddie, baby, what’s a guy gotta do to get a kiss around here?”

Eddie tossed his head back and replied, “Just ask real nice.”

He led them back to the living room, where Richie made grabby hands at him until he happily slipped into the ring of his arms. Richie kissed him softly, and then looped his arms around Eddie’s waist to stand behind him.

“So I’d like to thank everybody for visiting our lil love nest,” Richie addressed their friends.

“Richie,” Bev groaned over Bill’s booing from the crowd.

His chuckle rumbled against Eddie’s back. “No, really. Eddie’s been talking about showing the place off to you guys for months, long before it looked this nice. It means a lot to us that you could make it. Feels good to have everyone here.”

Eddie twisted to kiss the corner of Richie’s mouth. 

“Ooh.” Richie popped his brows teasingly. “I didn’t even ask for it that time.”

“I know.” Eddie thumbed his jawline. “I just love you.”

Like he always had, and always would. 

They’d all forgotten the love they had for each other for too long, and they had damage they were still fixing, even after killing the clown and escaping their shitty hometown. But that wasn’t the end, it wasn’t revenge or closure—it was finishing what they’d started as kids so they could move on to create the lives they’d always deserved.

“And I love you guys,” Eddie said, turning back to their friends. He lifted his glass to toast. “To the loser’s club!”

“The loser’s club!” they chorused.

Eddie had never felt so lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for going on this journey with me. It's the longest thing I've ever posted, and your feedback and support has meant so much to me over the months!  
> I will be picking up sweeter by the hour back up in a few weeks, and I hope you'll be able to enjoy that too!  
> Again, I'm [@doeeyeskasprak](https://twitter.com/doeeyeskasprak) on Twitter and [katranga](http://katranga.tumblr.com) on tumblr, though I'm much more active on Twitter rn lol.  
> Please let me know how you liked it!!


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